Night of the Falling Stars
by BlackBird'292
Summary: The war with Galbatorix is over, and yet the land is still in chaos. Bandits and mercenaries roam the land, and war is raging. Fires start, and are never quenched. Read as Alagaesia plunges into its darkest time. Sequel to Shadow Rider.
1. Prologue

Blood.

It was everywhere.

It covered the walls, splattered drops that slowly started to drip. It covered the floor, dyeing the carpets scarlet. It covered the corpses of the various warriors and servants throughout the household, smeared across their bodies and faces.

The many guardsmen were impaled on the very weapons that they once wielded, their bodies stiff on the cold, unforgiving steel. Entire shields were cracked or shattered, and almost every blade was bent or broken. Every carcass, every remaining part of what once was… were all soaked in crimson.

The very scent of it was in the air, choking out courage and replacing it with pure and absolute fear. Fear that was seen in the faces of the fallen, their features twisted with horror and pain.

"Erithe! Concentrate!" shouted a voice.

The young guardsman gritted his teeth and ran on forward faster. The numerous bodies on the ground had nearly tripped him a few times before, and if it happened now…

A scream sounded, signaling the death of another of their comrades. His captain swore and ordered them to run faster. Fersinoir, the head of the Esendan house, seemed pale but determined. All of his remaining guards surrounded him, ready to sacrifice their lives for their master if the need arose. There were five warriors in all; the captain and his remaining subordinates.

The only ones alive from a company that had previously numbered one hundred.

Erithe's breath suddenly stuck in his throat. _He_ was near, he could feel it. That ever present shadow that trailed behind them, toying with them, laughing at them. The shadow that carried a sword longer than itself.

One of the men behind him gurgled and stumbled, a blade pierced out of his chest. Some of the guards screamed. But none of the men stopped running.

Reaching their destination at last, the captain pulled open the door and urged his men in before slamming the wooden door shut, barring the door with pieces of wood and metal. It was futile, as every one of them knew. But they still clung onto that thin thread of hope, the slight chance that they would be able to force the shadow back into the darkness where it belonged.

The captain turned around and looked into the eyes of Fersinoir. "Now is your chance, my lord. At the back of the room, there is another door leading to the stables. If you manage to—"

"I won't let my men die while I run away like a coward." Stated the young noble firmly. "Such a thing goes against the very rules of our family."

"My lord, don't let those who passed away die in vain. You need to flee!"

An amused chuckle sounded from the other side of the wooden door. "How delightfully predictable. Think up something better; I'll wait as long as you want."

A guard, with his face as white as parchment, rushed back into the group. "Captain! The door at the back! It's been blocked! I've tried everything I can, but it just won't move!"

The captain cursed under his breath. "Rens, go to the front with Nalan and Dech. Erithe! Get a bow and keep an arrow trained on the door. Don't shoot until I give the order!"

The men nodded, gathering the remaining scraps of their bravery before standing in a small formation. Crouching down, Erithe drew his bow and aimed his arrow at the only entrance, trying to ignore the cold beads of sweat that dripped down the back of his neck.

"Hmm. Trying to make your last stand?" the man outside mused. "That's better. It irritates me to no end when weaklings try to escape. So, have you readied yourselves?"

"Draw your swords! Now!" the captain screamed.

A cold gleam of metal flashed before Erithe's eyes, and he stumbled over in shock, releasing the arrow that he had been drawing back. It flew harmlessly into the ceiling, where it sank in with a dull "thump".

"Rens! Dech! Nalan!" screamed his captain.

Erithe groaned and placed a hand over his hair, shaking his head free of the dizziness and pain. Struggling to stand, he then saw the scene before him, eyes widening in horror.

The door had been cleaved apart in one single swing, its remains on the ground. The three hardened warriors who had been standing before it were now lifeless pieces of flesh, waists severed and lying face down on the floor. Blood was already flowing freely from their gaping wounds.

"My, my, my. I guess that I still came in too early after all. These poor men didn't even have the chance to draw their swords!" the figure chuckled and leaned against the wall, clearly paying no heed to the remaining people in the room.

"You… you… bastard!"

Screaming his rage and fury, the captain charged towards his opponent, his tactics and strategies forgotten in his blind anger. Stepping slightly to the side, the shadow dodged the blow easily and ended the man's life with a simple slash of a sword. The decapitated body fell to the floor noiselessly.

"What a waste. If he hadn't lost his mind like that, it would have actually been enjoyable killing him." The man nudged the head slightly with his foot, and returned his blade to its sheath on his back. "A pity."

With trembling fingers, Erithe grasped the hilt of his sword tightly, drawing it out without a sound. Even so, the killer turned around to look in his direction.

"Another one? Good. Come out, let me take a look at you." Called the voice.

Gritting his teeth, he took a deep breath and stepped out into the light. The man opposite him was still hidden in darkness, his face not able to be seen under the hood of the cloak. However, examining him for the first time, Erithe noticed in surprise that he was quite small.

"Ah. Yet another guard. How irritating." Sighing in resignation, a hand reached tiredly towards the back of his head.

Blanching, Erithe brought his sword in front of him, not a second too late. The two blades clashed with a shower of sparks, and the man withdrew his weapon in astonishment.

"So this one actually has some skills! Yet… not too much, it seems." He lazily pointed a finger at a small mark under Erithe's right eye.

Blood was trickling down the guardsman's face. Erithe shuddered, but grasped his sword even tighter. His lord was silent, as if he had already given up on this battle that they had lost long ago.

Sliding his tongue over the tip of his curved long sword, the shadow shivered in ecstasy, sampling the blood like fine wine. "Wonderful. Simply wonderful. It has been a long while since I've tasted something like this."

Erithe leaned over and whispered into Fersinoir's ear. "Listen, my lord. I… I will stall him while you escape. There still is a chance."

Fersinoir remained frozen, stiff and unmoving as a statue. Despair was written on his face, and his resolve seemed to have crumbled into dust. The fearless young noble was long lost, and in its place was an empty shell of what was once a man.

A sudden gust of wind blew in from outside, passing in through the small barred windows in the room. The breeze slowly lifted the hood of the man's cloak, catching him by surprise.

Erithe gasped.

Crimson hair. Eyes the color of blood. Skin as white as bone.

_A Shade…_

But that alone wasn't what scared the guardsman.

The one wielding the curved sword, the one who had brutally massacred more than two hundred people in the entire household, the one who killed without remorse… was a mere boy.

The boy smiled crookedly. "I guess that I should end things now, then. I've wasted far too much time already."

Erithe blinked as blood spurted out of a huge gash across his torso. Falling to his knees, he stared at his fatal wound with something akin to amazement.

_How? How?_ He clutched the wound on his chest in disbelief. The crimson continued to flow. His sword fell onto the ground with a barely noticeable sound.

He gasped for air and fixed his eyes on the one master that he had served for so long. The rest faded out into a blur of nothingness. Blood continued to seep through his fingers.

Slowly, he inched his other hand onto the hilt of his sword, and finally grasped it once again with numbing fingers. His skin felt thick, and he could barely move now. He could hardly breathe.

The shade stepped down on a struggling Fersinoir with ease, and reached for a small flask on his belt. Calmly, he started pouring the contents on the young noble. A small smirk was visible on the boy's face.

_Lamp oil._ Erithe thought, dazed. The next thing he saw was the boy with a torch in hand.

His hand tightened around his blade. The sword with the Esendan crest stamped proudly upon it. His vision was failing. The only things he could see was the frightened and tearful face of his lord. Mumbling, he tried to curse the shade; but his tongue did not seem to obey him.

The last thing he thought about was the fact that his master was going to be burned alive.


	2. Thieving

Slen raced through the small alleyways, smirking when the yells of fury behind him grew even louder. He looked down at the small sack of coins in his hands, satisfied with today's work. It could let him survive for a week, if he was smart enough and stayed clear from gamblers.

"Come back, you thief! You're not going to get away!"

"Shut up, you whoresons!"Slen shouted back. "It's just a few crowns. I'm sure as hell that you wouldn't miss them!"

Those three people were no better than thugs; greedy merchants that just wanted to cheat every drop of money remaining out of hungry people. It didn't really matter to Slen that they did so; but he just hated the look on their faces when they counted their coins at the end of the day. And the fact that Slen was extremely hungry.

He squeezed his scrawny body through the crowds and ran on. Pushing through people roughly, shoving people out of the way as fast as he could. A fat man cursed and tried to grab him, but Slen kneed him quickly in the fork of his legs and increased his pace. Not even caring when he passed a couple of the city guards. The soldiers did nothing to stop him. After all, stealing was all too common nowadays. Even in Furnost, a city relatively untouched by war.

The screams of rage were still behind him. Slen swore loudly. He didn't think they would be this persistent. It meant that he had to run even further, into places that he wasn't that quite familiar with. If he had known that this simple act would cause so much trouble, he wouldn't have done it in the first place. It was much better to just steal from the people passing by in the streets; lost in their own worlds, you could filch them clean and be leagues away before they noticed something was awry.

Unlike these thrice damned merchants. Heaven knows why they cared so much about the small circles of silver. It wasn't if they would die without them. And each merchant was as good, or even better than a thief at extracting gold from others people.

The harsh shouts were getting nearer. Trying to stop himself from cursing up a storm, he ran even faster. The coins clinked around in the bag. It did nothing to improve Slen's already foul mood. He couldn't run much more, not even remembering when he had eaten his last meal. Panting, he started to look for a place to hide. Sweat dripped down from his brow, at times getting into his eyes.

Finally, he found what he was searching for: a deserted, dark alley. Its end was blocked, and there was absolutely no way to escape from it if he was cornered, but it was the only thing that would hide him reasonably well. Ducking behind some wooden crates, he clasped his hands together, wishing for whatever god there was to help him through the mess his rashness caused.

He could hear the merchants getting closer. He closed his eyes and prayed even harder. The weight of the money now seemed impossibly heavy.

_Damn the demons!_ The heavy footfalls were now moving into this alleyway. The gods didn't prove too useful after all. Slen grabbed the hilt of his small dagger with sweaty palms. If he could stab one and scare them off, he might just have a chance…

Then again, he most probably wouldn't. He had three full grown men after him, and he was a mere child on his way to manhood. Although it wasn't apparent, he was already fifteen in age; in body, he looked two years younger.

_Damn, damn, damn damn!_ He was going to die here. Merchants were not known for their mercy, and they likely were already taking out their knives. It wouldn't be any good going against them.

Thinking quickly, the boy smeared copious amounts of filth on the ground onto his face, and hid the bag of coins in a dark corner under the crates. Taking out his dagger, he shredded his tunic up and slashed his trousers up as well. Then he quietly slipped his blade where the money lay.

"There he is!" screamed one merchant, seeing him lying against the boxes. They all rushed forward and grabbed his arms tightly.

Slen blinked stupidly, as if was suddenly awoken from deep sleep. "Eh, masters? What's up with yahs?" he drawled in a low accent.

The merchants frowned to each other. "This isn't him. This is just some beggar boy on the streets." One whispered.

"Aye. The other brat looked nothing like this one." The other replied.

The other one looked sharper than the other two. "I'm not so sure." He muttered back, examining the tears on Slen's tunic.

"So? Whaddya want from a street boy like me?" Slen stared in impatience at the three men, glaring with blurry eyes.

"It isn't him, I'm sure." The first merchant murmured. "The real thief will be long gone if we don't go after him now!"

"I'm still not sure of it." Hissed the third, still examining the boy's shirt.

"We'll come back and check this one if we don't get the thief." Assured the second. "Let's first go back to the main streets."

Still staring suspiciously at Slen, the merchant allowed him to get led away by his companions. The three people walked slowly back to where they entered.

"Hey, good sirs!" Yelled Slen after them. "You wouldn't happen to have a few brass coins with you, do ya?"

They all shook their heads and continued to walk away. The boy grabbed onto a hand with his grimy fingers. The merchant backed away in disgust.

"Ah, don' be like that. After all, ya did wake me. And I was havin' such a great dream…" The boy pleaded.

"Ugh, Binel, give him the coins and be quick about it. We don't have much time." Said one. Disgruntled, Binel tossed Slen a few copper coins.

"Thanks, good sirs. May the gods watch upon ya." Slen bowed low and theatrically.

"Just leave us." Grumbled Binel. They all turned to leave, and all would have gone well. And yet…

Slen laughed. A laugh that he simply could not hold back.

Binel spun around. "That laugh… you remember it, don't you Ganli?" his eyes glinted dangerously.

One of his companions, Ganli, raised an eyebrow. "Aye! It sounds exactly the same! It is him."

"He played us like a fool, Wresb." Muttered Binel. "That deceiving pile of scum tried to trick us."

Slen, trying not to panic,widened his eyes in innocence. "Umm… sirs? What are ya talking about?"

"Don't fool with me, boy!" Wresb spat. "I know that laugh. That mocking and annoying laugh only belongs to you and you alone. Hand over the crowns now!"

Slen's heart sank. There was no way getting out of this one. And even worse, he had left his dagger with the bag of coins. The only thing left to do was get his body pummeled with fists nearly the size of his head.

"Now, now. Would you men be so kind to stop for a moment and listen to what I've got to say?" A figure stepped up from behind Slen and put a hand on his shoulder gently. The boy jumped in shock, and whirled around.

_Where in the nine gods did he come from?_

The man was wearing a simple traveling cloak, and looked quite young. Yet despite his age, he carried an air of quiet dignity that so many nobles lacked. His calm grey eyes seemed to shimmer secretly with power.

The merchants were slightly daunted with the man's sudden appearance, but they did not let that show on their faces. "What do you want?" demanded Binel.

The man smiled. "I detest fighting, and I simply loathe killing. So, for the sake of this boy and I, would you leave him alone?"

Wresb huffed. "Not a chance in the demon's name! This boy stole—" The merchant was cut off suddenly by a sack of coins landing on the ground before him. Picking it up, he counted the crowns thoroughly.

"Every last coin is in here." He announced.

Binel nodded. "Very well then. If you are with the boy, then we will forgive him for now. But we won't let him go if this happens again!"

The stranger nodded and smiled again. The merchants hurried out of the alley, wanting to be out of the presence of the man as soon as possible. Soon they were back on the busy street, breathing in relief.

Chuckling, the man reached to his belt and pulled the boy's knife out of the leather, holding it out for him to take. Slen looked at it suspiciously before stuffing it back into his worn boots.

"Why did you do this? And who are you?"

The man shrugged. "Well, I was watching your little escapade from the distance, and I thought that you'd need some help. To my surprise, you managed through it pretty well; using the dim light in this alley to your advantage, as well as acting the role of a beggar quite splendidly. I was applauding in the shadows."

"And why didn't you come out until the last moment?" asked Slen.

"I was seeing if you had any cards left to play. But don't worry, I wasn't disappointed in what I saw." The man took out a sack of coins from one of his bags. "I got another one of thesefrom one of the merchants. The fat one named Binel, if I remember correctly."

The boy looked at in disbelief. "It… it's even larger than the one I… when did you…?

"When they were bickering. So, do you want this or not?"

"Of course I damn do! But—"

The man smirked. "Yes, you're not going to get it for free. Why don't you come along with me? If you tell me some things, I'll treat you to a hot meal and I'll give you these coins as further payment. Do we have a deal then?"

"Damn right you do." Answered Slen happily.

"Very good then. Come along with me." The man turned around and started to walk out of the alley.

"Wait, sir! Could I know your name?" Panting, Slen ran out of the dark alley way as well. "No offense, but I—"

"No, not a problem at all." Replied the man smoothly. "My name is Daevr."

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Yep, characters from Shadow Rider are starting to appear. First, it'll be the few OCs I added on my own… then more familiar names will come up.

Please review!


	3. Proposing

Furnost, despite its looks, was one of the richer cities in the crumbling Alagaesia. Because it was generally considered a small town without any sort of important value, it was often ignored by the forces struggling for dominance. Because of this, it gradually began to thrive, and eventually flourish. Stores of all kinds could be found along the narrow streets, and one could find any object or service they were looking for with utmost easiness. However, the most famous and numerous things in Furnost were its taverns.

Daevr chuckled as he saw the boy sitting across him tear through his food like a famished wolf. It was if he had been starved a week. He was pleased that this particular tavern made food of such quality.

"How long haven't you eaten, Slen?" he asked casually, taking a sip from his ale.

The boy blinked and turned his gaze towards Daevr. "Umm… I'm not sure, really. Four or five days at the most. There hasn't been much people to steal from lately. Rather…" Slen smiled wryly. "They don't have much money to steal at all. If they did, I would never gotten into this mess."

Daevr raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure about that? Your observations on the people of this city seems accurate, yet your faulty thieving performance with the merchants leaves me to doubt that second remark. Are you really as good as you claim you are? Or are you merely boasting, to improve my image of you?"

Slen looked slightly offended. "What do you mean? I'm one of the best. I just messed up with those three simply because of my empty stomach."

"If you are planning to lay out your lies like this all through our conversation, I suggest that you stop. You won't gain any gold like this." The man prodded the sack of money on the table, as if to emphasize his point. "I am fairly sure that you are competent enough to rifle through the pockets of some poor commoner, but dealing with people experienced with thieves like you? You'd find even getting away hard. Are my assumptions correct?"

The boy remained defiant. "I'm telling you that I—" A calm look from Daevr silenced him.

Slen sighed, and reluctantly gave in. "Aye, aye, my skills are mediocre at best. Are 

you satisfied now?"

"Only if you answer truthfully the questions I ask you further on." The soft smile returned to the man's face. "As I am running short on time, would you mind me asking those questions now?"

"Of course not." Replied Slen quickly.

"Good, good… so, the first one is this: What do you know about the Esendan massacre?" The man rubbed his chin, and looked directly into the boy's eyes.

"Eh… the Esendan house…" Slen scratched his head, deep in thought. Then his eyes widened. "Ah, I know now! The thing that happened five days ago! What about it?"

"Such a thing would surely spark a man's interest. All the maids and servants killed, guards all slain, not one member of the house spared… and the fact that out of three hardened men that I sent there, two had heaved their insides out the second they stepped into the manor." The corners of his mouth lifted in grim amusement. "And the strangest thing is that it seemed to be done by one person, and a small one."

"One… person?" spluttered Slen. He'd heard insane stories all through his life, but this was the most absurd of them all.

"Indeed. My men had examined the tracks at the entrance of the manor, and it revealed only one person going in, and coming out moments later. Very unusual. So, back to the original question. What ties did the Esendan house have with Furnost?"

"I… eh, the Esendan's were practically the governors of the city. They held the most control over the merchants, and the guards that protect the city. The house was an honorable bunch, but they often misjudged their strength and sometimes tried to complete impossible feats. However, they still did much for the town, in their own strange way."

"Hm." Daevr leaned back in his chair, a slight frown marring his features. "To go at such extremes… I wonder who planned the downfall of them." He chuckled. "A thing like this has not been seen since the start of The Dragon War. It is rather fitting that it should happen after the end of it."

"The Dragon War?"

"Aye. Starting with the rise of Galbatorix, and ending with the death of him by the Shadow Rider's hands. It had been named so because it was the last war in which dragons were seen in Alagaesia; after the war was over, not even a simple egg was found ever again."

"What happened to the dragons in the war? Did they die? I recall storytellers and bards talking about the four dragons in the final battle. What happened to them?" asked Slen.

"No one really knows. But after a few years of traveling, and a few hints from the friends of my former mentor, I came to a conclusion. Now listen carefully to this, for this is information generally unknown to most people. I am only telling you this because of your splendid performance earlier, and the fact that I like you."

The boy nodded eagerly.

"You do know about the final war fought between the Varden and the Empire, right? It is common knowledge, after all. The two sides, corrupt as they were, immediately fell into chaos as soon as the main leaders of each side were struck down. King Galbatorix died in that fateful duel with the Shadow Rider, and his dragon was murdered as well. Nasuada was pierced by a guided arrow, and passed away after many futile attempts to save her. Islanzadi of the elves was surrounded by twenty Black Hand magicians, who killed her after losing more than half of their men. King Orrin managed to survive and returned to Surda, vowing never to meddle in the affairs of Alagaesia again."

"Yes, I've heard most of it from story tellers." Said Slen.

"Alagaesia splintered. Now there are more than fifty nobles and warlords thathave armies of their own, and five dominant forces that command them all. The Argenon Empire in the north-west, the Kingdom of Sarobenia east beside it, and Estrodar, Cerfellion and Relensica taking up places in the south. These five… countries, for the lack of a better term… have warred amongst each other ever since fifteen years ago, when the Dragon War ended. There hasn't been much peace between them at all, frankly."

The boy listened with growing interest. The wandering bards had never mentioned this in their stories before.

Clearing his throat, Daevr continued. "The riders, long weary with the war and expressing a deep disgust of humanity, decided to forsake Alagaesia completely. To prevent people from using their race as weapons ever again, the dragons of the red and the green rider made their decision to head north, further than Ellesmera. Though unwilling, the riders eventually relented and let them be. Arya, the green rider, has returned to the forest and now is Queen of the Elves. She has made a vow similar to Orrin's, as fighting Galbatorix gave them nothing but the loss of the lives of thousands of the fair folk. Murtagh has long since disappeared. Legends say he has been training both his mind and body deep inside the Beor mountains, and now possesses unparalleled power. But they are only tales. Mere tales."

Slen nodded slowly, trying to take in what he had just learned. "So that is why there are no dragons now in Alagaesia. But I noticed one thing that you didn't mention."

"And that is?"

"What about Saphira, the blue dragon?" the boy asked.

Daevr noticeably stiffened and ran his hand through his hair. Finally, he said, "Like Murtagh. Whereabouts are unknown to everyone."

"And the Shadow Rider! What happened to the Shadow Rider?" asked Slen hurriedly.

"I… I don't know." Daevr's gaze drifted slowly to the ceiling. "But enough of this now. I want to continue with the second part of my proposal."

"The second part, eh?" Slen tore off another large chunk of his food. "What it is?"

"A few days past, my contact in Furnost disappeared without a trace. I have no idea how it happened, but either way, it means that I have to have someone new in the city soon. One that can easily find out the things that I want to know. Someone that can act accordingly to each situation. And you, my young friend, is exactly the kind of person I want. Especially after something like the Esendan massacre occurred." Leaning back, the man smiled. "And if you do it well, you will receive ten crowns a month without delay. Enough to let you live without worries."

The boy raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, the job sounds fine to me. People disappearing without a trace, you say? I doubt that this job is as good as you say it is."

"I thought you would be brave enough to take on something like this." Daevr, for the first time he had been with the boy, looked confused. "And every time I came to other men with this proposal, they always took it without another word. Is there something wrong with it?"

"Nay, there's nothing wrong with it. It just seems that ten crowns is a pittance if you put into account that you would get killed so easily." Slen shrugged and continued with his food.

Daevr blinked in surprise. Then he started to laugh.

"It is the first day we meet, and yet already you are trying to reap more gold off me. Very well then! Fifteen crowns a month, and no more. Any more than I'll have to find someone else."

Slen nodded reluctantly. "A passable amount. Acceptable. So, we have a deal then?"

The man across him smiled strangely. "You are certainly a strange young man, Slen. At one moment, you are like a child, a thief; the moment next, you are like a noble of a grand household, conducting business with merchants. Ah, but don't mind my mumblings. Yes indeed, we have a deal."

The boy grinned. "But you still have to give that sack of gold to me, right?" He pointed at the bag of coins on the table.

Daevr chuckled and threw it, and Slen caught it easily. As the boy caressed the wonderful weight of the money in his hands, for the first time in his life he felt his life was going in the right direction.

Suddenly, the door of the tavern opened with a creaky moan, and a man dressed in black stepped in, dripping with water from the rain outside. Paying no heed to the dozens of eyes fixed on him, he stepped up to Daevr and whispered a few words into his ear before exiting the room, going as fast as he had come.

Daevr sat back slowly, contemplating what he had heard. Slen observed the scene quietly with his dark eyes.

Sighing, Daevr rubbed his hands together. "I am sorry, but it seems that our deal won't go as it was planned. My original contact in this city has been found. It seems that he decided to act on his own and do some risky things by himself, resulting in him having to lie low for more than a month. I guess that my men and I were overreacting."

Slen's mouth dropped. "What! But that means—"

"Correct. You will not be working in Furnost, as we already have a man here." Daevr turned and looked outside at the falling rain.

"But you can't just abandon me after—"

The man turned around in surprise. "Who said anything about leaving you like this? I am not a man that does things like that. What I just said that you wouldn't be working in Furnost. That's not to say you can't work in other cities. You are too valuable." Seeing the look on the boy's face, he added, "Of course, only if you want to. If not, well, I'll find something else."

The boy grinned broadly. "I couldn't be happier if you could get me out of this stinkhole."

Daevr widened his eyes. "I beg your pardon?"

"I said, I would happily get out of this hell if you let me. I hate it here. The people here are filth, both in body and mind. I would have to resort to curse words in order to describe them fully." Slen stabbed at his meal angrily. "I just… hate it."

"Hmm. Well, I guess that I know a city that we are lacking in men, and coincidently, I am going there right after this little trip. But it is far up north, and far away from Furnost. Are you still certain that you want to come?"

"I've never been this certain in my entire damned life." Replied Slen firmly.

"Then, I guess that settles it." Standing up, the man refastened his cloak and put on his hood. "Use your gold to find a place to stay for the night. I will come to find you tomorrow. As for me… I shall see the infamous Esendan house itself."

"Aye." Mumbled Slen. The man waved a hand in farewell before disappearing into the rain-soaked streets like a shadow.

Slen scratched his dark hair, frustrated. It seemed so incredibly impossible. That man, Daevr… he seemed to have some sort of aura around him that made people want to trust him with their lives. His gentle smiles, his earnest attitude… even the dumbest of asses would say that he was without doubt, a good man.

His leaving made the effect fade away like a mist in the sun. But nevertheless, the feeling remained. Slen felt strange, as if he had been graced by the presence of a king, or a god. The soft look in the man's eyes left the boy shaking like a leaf, unable to lie like he could, unable to boast like he could, unable to actually be himself. Hell, he couldn't even bring himself to ask whatthingsDaevr and his men actuallydid.

No, it wasn't his calm demeanor that left Slen breathless. It was the power that the boy was sure was underneath it.

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A little update on how Alagaesia is faring lately. Not too good, hmm?

Anyhow, the characters who were still alive at the end of Shadow Rider will be gradually making appearances all throughout the story. Eragon will remain in the background.

Reviews, please! They are what keep me alive!


	4. Riding

"Wake up, boy. Time won't wait for us forever!"

Slen blinked groggily. Then he shot in an instant and stared at the man beside his bed, wide eyed.

"How in hell's name did you find me here!" shouted Slen.

Daevr grinned. "I have my sources. And don't scream, the sun has just risen and most people are still in bed. They won't take you too kindly if you wake them."

The boy groaned and hefted himself out of the warm covers. "Then may I enquire what _you_ are doing out of bed? In the ungodly hours of dawn…" He rubbed his aching head. "You'll go to hell for this if you do it to every person you meet."

Daevr shrugged. "Wake up, boy. The land we're in is already hell. We're the ones trying to change it. Dress up quick, I'll be waiting for you downstairs." With those added words, the man stepped out of the door and soon Slen could hear the wooden steps creaking under Daevr's weight.

Sighing loudly, the boy clasped on a frayed cloak he had found a few years past and stuffed his knife into his boot. With a large yawn, he stumbled downstairs as well.

Daevr was already waiting outside of the inn, looking at the morning sun. His sword was belted to his waist, and his traveling cloak was now replaced with one that was entirely black. Miraculously, he had two already saddled horses with him.

"Where did ya get these?" Slen said, glancing at the two animals. They looked back at him with impassive liquid eyes. "From one of your men?"

"Correct. Now, I want you to rethink your decision carefully. Are you sure that you want to leave Furnost? You have to know that you have other choices that you can pick from." Daevr looked into the boy's eyes intently. "Are you completely sure about your decision?"

A flash of memories entered Slen's mind. An angry and frustrated face, full of resentment. A wagon wheel, marking the place of a grave.

"Hell yes I'm sure!" crowed the boy happily. "You could drag me along with a rope tied to your horse, you could cut me into little morsels and take me with you, but either way I'm getting out of here!"

Satisfied, Daevr smiled and mounted his horse. "So it is decided then. Shall we ride?"

Slen stood in place, expression strange. He was looking at the horse intently.

The man looked back quizzically. "Is there something wrong?"

Slen didn't turn to meet his gaze. "Hold on a moment. It's been a while since I rode these thrice damned animals." Cautiously, he approached the horse from behind…

Only to yelp as he dodged the hoof that was aimed at his stomach. Daevr smiled in realization.

"Ah, so this is your first time. Am I right?" The man looked at the boy thoughtfully. "I apologize. I did not think this through enough. Would you like to—"

"Shut up already." Muttered Slen. Mimicking Daevr's movements, he climbed onto the horse with slight difficulty and awkwardness, and grasped the reins. "I told you that I'm fine."

The man raised an eyebrow. _He's a fast learner._

"Fine then. But be careful. It will be your own fault if you break an arm because of your recklessness." Daevr casually tightened the straps on his saddle. "Oh, and you know? I am mighty impressed at how you actually missed being kicked. Is there any chance that you learned it during your previous experiences?"

Slen growled. Daevr laughed lightly and urged his horse into a small gallop. Following his movements, the boy did the same as well.

The morning air was fresh and crisp, unlike the smell of the dirty alleys that Slen lurked in most often. The sun shone its gentle light on the pair, bathing them in gold. It was not something that the boy had ever experienced before.

"We are nearing the gates of Furnost." Called Daevr, as he turned around. "Last chance to change your thoughts."

Slen gave a small grunt. "How many times have I told you? Three? I am going with you and that is final. Damn this city into hell for all I care. Hell, I don't even care where you're taking me."

Daevr nodded and turned back. The steady clip-clop of hooves striking the cobblestones was oddly relaxing. Slen couldn't remember the last time he had felt like this. All his life had been an endless cycle of hunger, stealing and deceiving.

No. That was a lie. He did remember the last time he had felt so relaxed and happy. Gritting his teeth, the boy forced the thoughts out of his mind. It was strange how joyful thoughts like those could make him angry like that.

All was calm as they exited the massive gates. The guards watched them pass sleepily, too tired to stop them or even ask a few questions. It was as if they were the only beings awake in the entirety of Alagaesia.

Their riding was uneventful. Birds flew above and a few wild animals lurked in the grass, but almost no human was seen. Clearly at ease, Daevr began to talk with Slen. First about small things, but then they started to talk about the ancient legends and stories that every person had heard when they were children. The Dragon War was fully explained in detail by Daevr, and Slen marveled at how much he knew about the battles. It was as if he had been through most of the war himself.

_Not unlikely,_ thought Slen as he listened to another one of Daevr's tales. The man had a wide span of knowledge, knowing about things that the boy didn't even know existed. But there were always some things that the man seemed reluctant to talk about. The infamous Shadow Rider, for one. Eragon Shadeslayer was also a topic that he rarely touched.

It wasn't before long that Slen realized that Daevr was extremely bad at lying. The man was sharp and clever, but he lacked the realistic twist to add into his words to make his lies seem real.

The horses they rode on seemed to be reasonably fast, being of a good breed. The fields around Furnost were now already gone in the distance, and the city walls weren't visible at all. Marveling at their speed, Slen turned around and faced his companion.

"Daevr? I trusted you enough to bring me this far, but I think it would be a good time to tell me where you are taking me. Or is it supposed to be a surprise?" Slen smirked at the man beside him.

"We're going to Seteliel, the capital of the Argenon Empire. We already have five people stationed there, but in that city there is always the need for more men." Daevr replied. "It is a flourishing city, and it is much more important than Furnost will ever be."

"Any city is more important than that dark, dank, hellish and cursed place. Hmm, the Argenon Empire? Mind telling me who these Argenon's are?"

"To do so, I will have to touch on some ancient history. You do remember that story I told you about King Palancar and his war with the elves?"

Slen nodded his head. It wasn't a very interesting tale, but he remembered it.

"The Argenon nobles are direct descendants of that king, the first human ruler in Alagaesia." Said Daevr with a smile. "They are all of that sacred bloodline, and they pride themselves on it."

"Is that so? Then what shall I be doing there?" asked the boy.

"Collecting rumors and information. But the most important thing that you have to do is find out the plans of the Argenons, the royal family. It is a vital point in what we do." Answered Daevr.

"And pray tell, what does this organization of yours do? We've been together for so long and you still haven't told me. Don't you think that's a bit strange? Or is the truth only for ranks above me? Or is it that you don't do anything at all, and just go around looking important?"

Ignoring the added remark, Daevr turned to him, astonished. "You still don't know what we do?"

The boy sighed, exasperated. "You never did tell me." Muttered Slen.

"My apologies. Then, let me put it this way then… ah, never mind me. I think it would be sufficient if I said that we call ourselves the Zharenti."

Slen blanched. "The Zharenti!"

The Zharenti were a legendary brotherhood that had men spread all over Alagaesia. The tales said that they numbered over a thousand men, and almost everything was in the reign of their abilities. They could overturn Alagaesia if they wished to. It was rumored they worked secretly for the Argenon Empire.

Though Slen doubted that half of the myths were true, the Zharenti was clearly a force to be reckoned with. And if Daevr was in that organization…

"Ah, Daevr. So you are part of the Zharenti?." Slen scratched his head, trying to veil his awe. "I didn't know that you belonged to such a group."

"Oh, I'm not just part of the Zharenti. I lead it." The man cracked a grin and tugged slightly on the reins. "So does that answer your question?"

Slen stared wide eyed at the man before him. He was the head of one of the largest organizations in the land and he was traveling with a mere thief? Daevr didn't look like he was lying. But could he be testing him somehow?

"So what does the Zharenti actually do?" asked Slen cautiously.

"Hm. Well, to put it simply…" Daevr turned his gaze towards the boy beside him. "The land is in flames. Wars and battles are as numerous as the lives they take. It is because you lived in Furnost that you don't know the true terror of war and what it can do to a man."

Slen opened his mouth, but decided against talking and shut it again.

"Wouldn't it be better if someone could unify all these battling countries together? Lives would be saved by the millions, and people would finally live peaceful lives. It is what we strive for."

The boy's jaw dropped. "So you mean that you are going to defeat all these countries with your men and create one of your own? That's—"

"Absurd." Finished Daevr. "I do not seek power, nor do I wish to be king. I simply help the countries that have potential, and aid them in difficulties. All for the greater good."

Slen nodded in realization. "So that's why some people say that you are the servants of the Argenon Empire!"

The man looked annoyed. "A common misconception. We are not part of the Empire in any way. We simply aid it with things that are… out of their reach."

Out of their reach. What a laugh.

The Zharenti assassinated. They stole secrets and killed people who stood in their way. They burned down entire houses and murdered nobles of royal blood. And yet, because they were not actually part of the Argenon Empire, there was nothing any country could do about it. Things made sense to Slen now.

However, the one thing that the boy couldn't make sense of was how a person like Daevr became one of the most feared and deadly men in Alagaesia. What hid beneath that calm, smiling face?

"You seem to be troubled. Is there something wrong?" asked Daevr, concerned.

Was this man really as bad as lying as he believed? Or was the man so fanatical in his own righteous beliefs that his thinking was twisted beyond compare?

"Slen? You've been looking dazed for quite a while. Shall we make a short stop and rest for a while?" The man's voice leaked genuine worry.

Slen shook his head and continued to ride, thinking over what he had learned. The boy was only certain about one thing when it came to Daevr.

He was a very dangerous man. But sure as damn, Slen wasn't going to show Daevr that he was afraid of him.

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Nightfall soon came and rain began to fall lightly, forcing them to camp for the night. Slen was aching all over his body do to his riding, and he wanted nothing but sleep. Daevr fared much better than he did, though the man looked tired as well.

"We have covered more ground than I expected. The horses that my men gave me were extraordinary. I believe that we should be seeing Rventicas by tomorrow." Said Daevr, pleased. "If we keep on this pace, we will be in Seteliel in less than a week."

"Rventicas?" asked Slen as he lay down against a tree.

"Formerly called Uru'baen. It is in ruins, but it is the home to the nobles of Cerfellion; most commonly known by people as the so called, "Last Followers of the Dragon King".

"So these people of Cerfellion still think they work for King Galby?" Slen laughed. "Bunch of fools."

Daevr shrugged. "They choose to believe that. But they are not the most dangerous of the people who once followed Galbatorix. The Black Hand, for example, is still known for its brutality and efficiency when killing. Unfortunately, they do not stand by the side of any country and its men are hard to find. Unlike some people who think too highly of themselves."

Slen frowned. "What are you talking abou—"

In a flash, Daevr drew his sword, whirled around and beheaded a man behind him. Blood splattered onto the grass.

"Mercenaries." Muttered Daevr, examining the man's clothes. "We have to ride."

He needn't have said that. Slen had already scrambled onto his horse, waiting for Daevr to do the same. The man didn't remark on this and mounted his horse as well, riding swiftly behind Slen.

"I am curious as to who the one behind this attempt on my life is." Muttered Daevr, bending low on his horse.

"It doesn't damn matter! Almost every person that isn't an Argenon wants your head!" Urging his horse to run faster, Slen turned around only to see numerous torches in the distance behind them. They were gaining rapidly.

"This will be more troublesome than I thought." Daevr unsheathed his sword once again and turned his horse around to face the pursuers. "Keep on riding. I will follow your trail as soon as I can."

"I can't just leave you here!" shouted Slen. "Even thieves have—"

"I appreciate your concern, but this is not a place for you." Daevr spurred his horse towards the company of men. "I will try to lead them off. But do try to be careful."

"I—"

"It is your first order. Obey it." With those words, Daevr leapt off his horse and disappeared into the darkness.

Gritting his teeth, Slen wrenched the horse around and galloped forward, distance between Daevr growing steadily. He could now only barely hear the shouts and curses of the mercenaries.

But there was still something wrong. The boy could feel it in the air.

A hand from behind grabbed him off his horse, muffling his scream of surprise. The only thing he could smell was the stench of sweat and beer. He could barely breathe.

"Ah, now what do we have here? A little rat, trying to escape. Looks like the folks were right about putting me here after all." The mercenary released his hand on Slen's mouth and put it around the boy's throat. "Looks like I'll be making some gold tonight." He whispered into Slen's ear.

The boy coughed and breathed in, filling his lungs with air. "Gold?" he spluttered.

"Why, yes. If we kill an enemy seeking to escape, one crown is the reward. If we capture him alive…" the man turned Slen around to face him, his smile revealing his rotten and crooked teeth. "Three crowns. It's a fair deal. But I simply don't have that kind of luck usually. But tonight is special."

Slen raised an eyebrow. "Three crowns, eh? What if I told you that I had more than thirty crowns on myself right now?"

The man's eyes bulged. "Thir-thirty crowns?" he muttered, counting on his fingers.

"Aye, thirty crowns. Why don't we make a deal? I'll give you twenty of my coins, and you let me go. It is definitely beneficial for you." The boy smiled. "More than three times what you're gonna get."

The mercenary snarled. "What do you think I am, a fool? Why take twenty when I can take all thirty now? Also the added three crowns that my captain will give me!"

"So you plan to tie me up and lead me to your comrades." Slen shook his head and sighed. "Yes, you are most definitely a fool. If you did so, I would tell everything to your captain, and not even the gods would know what would happen to your corpse. I know that the coin on killed men are always distributed evenly in mercenary guilds, and if you take all of my gold by yourself…"

The man paled, then sneered at the boy. "Dead men don't talk. I'll just slit your throat here and be done with it. Then I'll help myself."

"That would even be more foolish." Slen sighed, shaking his head. "You are not thinking clearly enough. What would your fellows do with you when they find that you have an unnatural abundance of gold in your small pockets? What would your captain do? Hmm?"

The mercenary tugged on his stringy hair and swore. Grinning, Slen continued.

"And those, my friend, are the results of killing me. Now, let me propose something that will be good for the both of us."

Warily, the man unclenched his fingers. Resisting the urge to rub his throat, Slen took out the knife from his boot.

"Let us do it this way. Since you will be punished if they find out that I've bribed you and let me go, we will have to make them believe that you failed to catch me because I was simply too good at swordsmanship. At that point, your captain will only have himself to blame, since he did not place more men here."

The man nodded slowly. "So?"

"I will wound you slightly in numerous areas, and then knock you out. When you wake up, you will find twenty crowns in your wallet. How does that sound? You would never be suspected, since you here almost died in a duel with me."

Frowning, the man looked at Slen's dagger. "How can I trust you? You could slit my throat."

"I swear that I won't on my father's grave." Said the boy solemnly. The mercenary whistled.

"What a vow. Alright, I trust you. But don't make the gashes too deep." Lying down, the man closed his eyes.

"Ready?" asked Slen.

"Aye boy, I'm ready."

"Good. Greet my father for me." Slen twirled the dagger around his finger and stabbed the man in the heart.

"Idiot. I don't even know who my father is, and I could care less if his grave was struck by lightning." Wiping his knife on the damp grass, the boy stood up and turned his gaze towards the distance.

_Strange. The torches have divided, and one part of the company is heading…_

"Damn!" the boy swore. His horse was gone, and half of the mercenaries were after him. It seemed as if Daevr wasn't successful in his attempt.

Muttering to himself, he clutched his head as he began to think of a way to escape them. It was practically impossible, but—

Slen looked at the corpse beside him, and he stared at it.

And stared.

And he grinned grimly.

It was a very risky gamble, and heaven knows what would happen if the plan failed; however, it was the only way.

Quickly removing his clothing, he stripped down the dead body as well. The smell of the blood sickened him, but he held the bile down in his throat. He hastily donned the ragged clothes of the mercenary, and clothed the corpse in his.

The yells of pursuit were getting closer. Slen could feel his palms getting damp.

Taking out his knife once again, he sliced up the corpse's face, making it nigh impossible to recognize. He rubbed the blood over his features as well.

The shouts and the clanging of swords were very close. A bowshot away at the most. The boy's arms were shaking like hell.

_One last thing to do._

Slen gritted his teeth, and rammed his head into the nearest tree.

Unconsciousness came almost immediately, like a black fog at the edge of his vision. Slowly, he slipped, and tumbled into darkness.

His last thought was about the man who brought him out of the filth of Furnost.

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Sorry about the slow pace. We're going to meet some major CP characters in a few chaps though, so don't be disappointed.

And one of them is extremely famous. She is one of the most-picked heroines in fanfictions that are about the era after Eragon becomes king/dies/ leaves Alagaesia.

Much foreshadowing on her has been done by CP himself.

Who is she? Anyway, continue reading to find out!

Reviews! I have an eternal thirst for them… please, click that small button. 


	5. Talking

_A man stood near the edge of a small lake, examining the surface with keen interest. Images played across the water, slightly distorted by small ripples._

_Smiling grimly, the man waved his hand across the lake and the pictures disappeared like a wisp of smoke. He ran a hand through his long silver hair, sighing as he went._

_A wooden sword belted on his waist was the last thing seen as the man faded into darkness._

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_Another one of those strange dreams._

Sitting up, he closed his eyes in thought. _Why is it that these strange dreams always come to me?_

"So you're awake, Arkiloth-vor?" asked a casual voice from above.

Arkiloth did not bother to look up, as his sightless eyes would not be of any use. "Stop the honorifics. You know as well as I that I despise them."

"You know as well as I that I won't stop using them no matter what you say." Replied the person with a smile. He leapt down from the tree branch effortlessly, and straightened himself. "Anyhow, it is almost dawn. We will moving from this campsite shortly."

Arkiloth nodded and stood up, fumbling around him for his wooden staff. He grasped it tightly in his pale hands and leaned on it for support.

The other man chuckled. "Easy, now. The Elven Queen will have my head if something happens to you."

"Rok, my mother would not care even if I killed myself in front of her." Muttered Arkiloth. "I've always been a thorn in her side."

"Now, now, don't talk about her like that." Chided Rok. "She is a good elf, and and an excellent ruler. You know that."

Arkiloth smirked cheerlessly, and then coughed. "Indeed. A good elf… something that I can never be." Grasping his staff with both hands, he looked towards the distance. "Where is Elva and Vanir?"

"Both are scouting around the campsite. You know how they are." Rok looked into the distance and smiled. "Anyhow, pack your things. They will be back soon."

Arkiloth nodded slightly and reached for his belongings. "Rok. Could you make the fire grow a bit? I am a bit cold."

"Certainly, Arkiloth-vor." Moving a hand over the diminishing flame, he murmured a small _brisingr_. The embers crackled back to life, giving out pleasant warmth. Arkiloth watched his actions silently.

"I am grateful." He commented.

"Nay, it is nothing." Rok sat down on the ground with a sigh, and looked at Arkiloth. "But I am suspicious of one thing: you are envious of my ability, no?"

"You already know the answer to that particular question." Replied Arkiloth, tying his provisions onto his horse. "It will be unneeded for me to speak further."

"How many times do I have to repeat myself, Arkiloth-vor? It is not a gift and nor is it a blessing from the gods. Rather, it is a burden." Rok grimaced and brought himself closer to the campfire. "It causes more problems than it solves."

"I somehow doubt that. You are one of the only elves to gain control of magic ever since the Dragon War, and you are certainly the youngest. Also, you have retained the ability to control the elements like the spellcasters of old. It does not seem much of a burden to me."

"The only thing I can use is _brisingr_. And a pitiful amount is the extent of my pathetic abilities."

Arkiloth looked away. "Compared to nothing at all, it is rather much."

"You are lacking in confidence, Arkiloth-vor. The prince of the elves should not be in such a state."

Arkiloth laughed sourly. "Prince of the elves… what a jest. I'm blind, sickly and incompetent. The son of an unknown father. Looked down by possibly everyone in the nation."

"Arkiloth-vor?" Rok yawned and leaned his back against a tree.

"Yes?"

"If you talk like that one more time, I will torch your cloak."

Arkiloth smiled weakly. "Understood." He replied, sitting down beside Rok. "Have you heard any news concerning our esteemed leader?"

"Daevr-elda?" Rok blinked and turned towards Arkiloth. "Last time I heard about him, he was managing his men in the south. Looks like there is something brewing there. Rumors say that the whole Esendan family was slaughtered in one night. No survivors remained."

Raising his eyebrows, Arkiloth turned and met Rok's gaze. "In one night? Quite a feat."

"Indeed. Add that to the mysterious disappearance of our man there, Rennick. Daevr-elda simply had to go. Also, word has been spreading that the Black Hand are the reason for these recent happenings."

"Is that so? Those filthy bastards…" Arkiloth took out a small water skin and drank from it.

"Aye. But that isn't all. Other things, other people…" Rok's voice drifted off. "Well, don't mind me. All isn't well, that's all we know. The Zharenti will be facing more problems than ever before."

"Hasn't it always been that way?" mumbled Arkiloth. "Every person that isn't of the Argenon Empire wants our hides. It is only natural that our enemies would only increase."

"True, true." Rok laughed and took the water skin that was handed to him. "However, hope is in sight. The Argenon's seem to be on the move. I'm betting that they'll attack Sarobenia in a few months. If they do so, they'll amass enough power to obliterate the three countries in the south."

"More and more bloodshed." Arkiloth took the water skin back and drank from it. "When will this ever end?"

"Hmm. Well, let's hope that this will all clear up in a few years. We're heading towards Seteliel, and it is possible that our actions there could change the entire fate of Alagaesia. Something to look forward to."

"Yea." Running a hand through his raven-black hair, he said, "Where are those two? They should be back by now."

"Vanir and Elva? As I said before, you know how they can get when troubled." Rok grinned. "But stop worrying. We'd be of no use at all if they actually did get involved in a duel. During our travels, I've never met a person that was good enough to defeat Elva, not to mention Vanir himself."

Arkiloth looked up at the stars. "Times are changing swiftly. Those who have hidden are now emerging from the depths. The Esendan massacre, for example. Do you think that even my mother would be able to accomplish such a feat?"

"Probably not, bu—"

"We will meet the killer soon. Too soon for my liking."

Rok sighed and turned his gaze upward, towards the starry sky. Thousands of stars twinkled above, watching innocently over the bloody land.

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Sorry for the late update. The exams were a real pain.

Anyway, I didn't want to reintroduce Vanir and Elva so soon; I want their changes to be a surprise. Therefore, I decided to make the new elven prince come out first. I'll explain his handicaps at a later time.

Reviews, please!


	6. Creeping

_Damn._

_Damn._

_Damn!_

Slen was a thief. A filthy, dishonorable piece of deceiving scum, as he had been called by some people when he was still in Furnost. Known for his ways, he wasn't trusted by anyone that knew him.

But the truth was that he the only reason why he succeeded in his outrageous lying attempts was because of his childlike appearance, and the fact that his victims were just too amazingly gullible. He also did not go against things that were beyond his power.

He knew when to cheat, and he knew when to give in. More than often he resigned himself to a beating simply because he knew that lying wouldn't get himself out of trouble. So far, he had made it with almost no lasting wounds.

Luck had been with Slen these few days. First those idiotic merchants, and then that foolishly naïve mercenary. Both were strangely easy to fool, but the thief wasn't complaining.

But they were much unlike the person right in front of him.

A piece of black fabric hid most of the man's face, and an open-faced helm covered his head. Leather armor was strapped all over his lithe body. Strands of dirty blond hair escaped from the headgear. His eyes gleamed with unconcealed mischief and intelligence.

"Well?" asked the man, in a soft voice that did not suit him. "Your captain is waiting."

Slen had gotten himself into a horrendously foul mess. After managing to disguise himself as a fellow mercenary that was injured in a fight, he was swiftly treated and sent to rest. After recovering, he was given a horse and sent to ride with the main party. Things would have gone peacefully, as the thief had planned.

But that changed after the captain of this particular band of men called him in for a talk. It seemed that the man wanted to know _exactly_ what happened in the woods.

Which was not good at all.

"Er, sir. I…" began Slen.

"I seem to remember that I put a man called Crin in that position in the forest. Why is it that you were found there instead?"

"Eh, it seemed that there something wrong with his ale. He felt horrible, so I went in his stead." Muttered the thief. _So that fool I killed was called Crin?_ He thought.

"Ah… is that so? Then where is Crin now? I find that I must speak with him." Said the man smoothly. "Surely, as a good friend of him you would know his whereabouts."

"He's… he's… I haven't seen him since that day." Said Slen. "But it's normal, really. We don't meet often."

"I see." The man seemed to be smiling under his mask. "How unfortunate. Well, could you tell me about what happened in the forest then?"

"Certainly, sir." Slen fought hard to keep his voice from shaking. "I was waiting there, just as instructed. Then a man came running by me, and I tripped him."

The captain nodded, and gestured for him to continue.

"We had a small struggle, and in the midst of the fight, we were locked tightly together. The only thing my blade could reach was his face."

"And that explains why the corpse was found with a bloody, unrecognizable face." Mused the captain. "You slashed it up, as it was the only thing you could do, correct?"

"Aye. The man collapsed because of the pain, and I stabbed him in the heart."

"Good, good." The captain stroked his chin, deep in thought. Then as if coming to a decision, he laughed and said, "Spectacular. Anyhow, go have some fun. I will send your reward shortly."

Slen bowed hurriedly and rushed out of the man's presence. He was far from relieved from the captain's words; they actually scared him more than ever. It was something in that soft voice that sent chills down his spine. Though the man did not say it, Slen was sure that the captain knew who he was and why he was here.

And that meant he was already standing in his grave. The captain probably kept him alive only to find more about Daevr.

"—actually defeated Captain Norrosk? Our infamous captain?"

"That's what I've heard. Though it's certainly strange, it's not surprising. Did you know who our captain was up against?"

Slen looked over to the men that were speaking. They were huddled over a campfire, and talking quiet voices.

"Who?" asked the first mercenary.

"The 'Night Sword' himself! The leader of the Zharenti!"

"Eh? Him!"

"Aye, it was him! I heard it from the others myself!"

"Then it was no wonder our little band of men couldn't catch him. The 'Night Sword' is legendary…"

The thief snorted and walked passed them. 'Night Sword' indeed. Sure, he was good enough to win in a duel with a nameless mercenary captain, but not good enough to save his subordinate from a hellish fate?

The thief thought back to that lithe-bodied captain, and shuddered. Of all the words to describe that particular man, "nameless" wasn't one of them. While Slen had never heard of Captain Norrosk, he was sure that there was more to the man that met the eye.

"Men!" cried a horseman. "The leader has given the order. We ride immediately to the north!"

Groans rose from the men as they reluctantly strapped their mismatched pieces of armor onto themselves. The captains around the encampments started to direct their men into orderly ranks. Slen sighed and climbed onto his horse as well.

After a full three days, the thief was still awed by the sheer number of men in the company. Numbering at least three thousand men, its influence and power would be comparable to the five countries in Alagaesia.

Seeing all the men gather was definitely a sight to see.

"I heard Captain Norrosk and Captain Thenel speaking about something earlier." Said a man behind him in a hushed voice.

"Eh? Those two? What did they say?" muttered the person beside the speaker. The two seemed to be close friends.

Slen slowed the horse's pace and listened in. He had to hear everything about this mysterious Captain Norrosk.

"They said something about the Zharenti. Thenel was very amused for some reason, while Norrosk seemed to be extremely cross."

"The Zharenti, huh? Well, if it's them, I would wager that—"

A sudden loud cry interrupted his words.

"Cerfellions!"

Slen blinked as the men around him cursed, reaching for their blades and readying their shields. _What are they talking about? Cerfellions?_ Confused thoughts ran through his already weary mind._ What are they?_

The thundering of hoofbeats in the distance caught his attention. Dust rose in the distance, and he could see the gleam of blades in the grime. Bows were drawn taunt, ready to release their arrows upon the mercenaries.

Then it struck him.

_"--in ruins, but it is the home to the nobles of Cerfellion; most commonly known by people as the so called, "Last Followers of the Dragon King"."_

The thief paled and fumbled for his sword, about to go through the first battle in his life.

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Well, we return back to Slen. Darn, it sure is annoying when making an OC of your own. You have to mold it the way you want to, chipping off parts that you don't want and strengthening parts that you like. It isn't a thing that can be done with a few sentences (for me, that is) and it has to be watched every chapter I post.

Now… I would say I don't like where his personality is going. But I'll manage to wrench it back to the right track. Somehow.

Please review!


	7. Evading

The small skirmish was over. The Cerfellions had retreated, and the mercenaries had not pursued them. Not many people died on either side.

Slen was somewhat disappointed at what he had just seen. He expected to see cavalries charging, the continuous twang of bowstrings and the clash of blade against blade. However, it seemed that the only thing the Cerfellions wanted was to give the mercenaries a simple threat; a small message, to send them a warning not to set camp in their land.

Not that Slen _wanted_ a giant battle. But it didn't matter now. What was important was that during the fight, the thief had disguised himself as a dead body and managed to sneak out of the band of mercenaries. By a great stroke of luck, he also found a horse while he was running away, its owner presumably dead and lying alone in the fields now.

That was why he was now sitting far away from the mercenaries in a reasonably safe clearing with a warm fire before him.

_Let's hope that that Captain Norrosk doesn't come sniffing after my rear, _thought Slen, grumbling as he dropped more firewood onto the flames. When was the last time he had a meal that involved more than a few berries? He didn't want to know. Being hungry was the least serious of his problems now.

Speaking of Captain Norrosk…

While he was pretending to be a corpse, he caught a glimpse of the captain rushing past on horseback, spinning two metallic objects in his hands. The two blurs of silver cut through every Cerfellion soldier that he came across. Blood splattered wherever he went. It was one of the most frightening things that the thief had ever seen, and he was even surer that the Captain was not someone you would want as an enemy.

Slen thought back to the words of the two whispering mercenaries. _How in damn did Daevr manage to defeat Norrosk?_ He grabbed a near-empty waterskin and drained half its contents.

He leaned his back against a tree and sighed, thinking about all that had happened in just a week. He had escaped the filth of Furnost with the help of a man claiming to be the famous "Night Sword", joined the mercenary company through unlikely means, struggled through over half of Alagaesia and ended up alone once again. Daevr was nowhere to be seen, and it was nigh impossible to find him.

And for the second time, Slen had killed a man.

The thief did not know what to think. That pitiful excuse for a mercenary was practically begging to killed, for damned sake. Anyone who saw that face would want to send him to hell and beyond. With his beer stained breath and ragged clothes, he was a filthy stain upon the world that had to be wiped off. Slen felt next to no regret at killing someone like him. In fact, he almost had no feelings about it.

Unlike the time when he had taken his first life. The rage he felt, the overwhelming anger and sadness… Things that could not be forgotten.

He shrugged the memories off and continued to look into the fire. _What do I do now?_ He thought absentmindedly.

An eerie howl sounded in the distance, and Slen shivered. This wasn't what he was used to. He had lived in the dirtiest of alleys and abandoned shacks infested with insects, but this… was different. Very different.

Slen did many things while he was in Furnost. Thieving and lying was what he did most, but he was by no means actually very good at them. Gambling was another, though he often relied on a few underhanded, dirty maneuvers to gain a few pitiful coins. However, getting caught when doing these acts was quite a common occurrence.

But there were things that he almost always avoided at all costs. The first and most important thing was getting involved in fights. But in the backstreets of Furnost, it was inevitable.

In all the fifteen years in his life, Slen had never truly fought in fair fight against someone and won. How was he supposed to? Being half starved almost half the time and having a body that was so thin and scrawny, it was a miracle in itself that he managed to survive this long. While it was true that he could frighten away children five years younger than him, the only way he could drive away the older ones was through a series of completely and utterly shameless tricks. Biting was one. Scratching was another. Kneeing one in the fork of his legs and throwing up clouds of dust into a person's eyes were common as well.

Slen yawned, and tried not to fall asleep. Only the gods knew what would happen in this god forsaken place if he let his guard down. But _where _was he, actually?

The thief picked up a stick and drew a small map on the soft earth. He had passed the capitol of Cerfellion, Rventicas, a few days ago with the mercenaries. That would mean that he was somewhere in the wide space between Seteliel and Cerfellion.

Slen groaned. That meant he could be anywhere. _This isn't helping at all,_ he thought dully.

The thief jumped up suddenly. For a moment, he heard the soft clip-clops of a horse's hooves against stone. He strained his ears, listening.

Slen cursed and grabbed his bags, tying them onto his horse. There was no mistaking it now. At least five riders were in the woods, moving slowly as if they were searching for someone. The thief could almost imagine the deadly glint of their drawn swords.

Making his way over to the fire, he looked for something that could quickly put out the flames. Finding none, he emptied his water skin over it, praying that his actions would go unnoticed.

Lady Luck did not seem to be on his side. Slen winced as the loud hiss of steam reached his ears.

The soft sounds of hooves quickly became louder, heading towards his direction. He bit back a scream of fear and leapt onto his horse, urging it on with his heels. His pursuers were not far behind, and gaining on him in a swift pace.

He swore under his breath, and looked around frantically for a place to hide. A small, nearby pond caught his attention.

Without a second thought, he slipped off the horse as quietly as he could and slid into the water until most of his head was covered. Holding his breath, he hid among the reeds and waited for the horsemen to pass.

The steady strikes of hooves slowly grew louder, and the riders entered his vision. They were all mercenaries, as he had guessed. All seven of them wore mismatched pieces of armor that were likely taken from the victims of their battles.

"The boy's horse is here! Must be nearby, I say." Muttered one of them as he looked around at his surroundings.

Slen cursed and sank even lower into the water. The little mistake of leaving his horse there was going to cost him his life, he was sure.

The leader thoughtfully stroked his chin, and whispered something into his men's ears. The group nodded and split apart, searching the area. Soon, only the leader was left.

The man got off his horse and walked around the pond, looking for any signs of the prey he was pursuing. His hand moved through the grass, and it would only be a matter of time before he discovered the thief. The water was clear, and he would be visible even in the darkness if one looked close enough.

_Damn it._

Slen ran through his options. Running away was useless. Hiding was useless. Feigning death was certainly useless as well.

Attack?

The thief watched in fright as the man moved closer and closer to where he was hiding. His fists clenched, and then unclenched.

The man was coming closer.

Slen bit his lower lip viciously and his arm shot out of the water, grabbing the man's ankle. Using every amount of strength he had, he tugged and pulled his startled enemy into the pond.

A grip fastened around the thief's neck like iron bonds. Slen choked, and tried to pry the hand away using his fumbling fingers. But it was of no use. No matter how he tried, he couldn't escape the grasp. His senses were muddled by the water.

A dagger suddenly appeared before his eyes, and he nearly gasped. It was held by the furious mercenary, rage written clearly on his features. Slen squirmed and wriggled, but he could only watch as the blade drew nearer.

_I'm not going to die like this!_ Slen gathered his remaining strength and threw a punch at his foe. The water rendered it barely noticeable when it finally reached the man that was trying to kill him.

The mercenary flashed him an evil grin, and the hand on his throat grasped even tighter. The knife was already at his throat, and it would kill him immediately if the man wished so.

Slen struggled with all his might, trying to avoid the blade being pressed against him. The dagger tore a thin gash on his skin, and the thief had to stop himself from crying in pain.

_I… think I'm going to die like this…_ Slen almost laughed. He should have been expecting it to be like this. The first time that he had actually—

The man's fingers slipped on the wooden handle of the dagger, and the blade slowly floated out of his grasp. Growling, he reached for it again, but Slen was faster.

The thief grabbed the knife with his weak fingers, and drove it into the stomach of the mercenary.

The grip around his neck loosened. Red liquid spiraled in the water, obscuring his vision. The thief ignored it all and headed towards the surface of the water, his lungs screaming for air.

Coughing, he emerged from the pond, thoroughly exhausted and half dead from the fight. He did not care if his enemy was dead or alive; all that mattered to him was to escape, and run as far away as he could.

He eyed the two horses by the water side. One was his, the brown mare he found while escaping. The black stallion was the mercenary's.

Making his decision, Slen climbed onto the stallion with difficulty, and urged it on with a weak voice. He was shivering in his wet clothes, and still coughing out water. A bruise was forming around his neck, where the man had tried to strangle him. He wasn't even in the mood to curse.

Grimly, he forced the horse into a gallop and continued his way to Seteliel. One way or another, with Daevr or without, he was getting there alive.

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Sorry for the late update… I had a busy weekend.

Oh, and I've noticed that many of you are asking a very good question: "When is Eragon going to appear?" Well, since he's already held the spotlight for a while, he won't come back as the main character ever again. However!

1. He will still play a vital role in the plot and the shaping of the new Alagaesia that I created. One could say that he's one of the main reasons behind all this war and stuff. His mere existence has stirred up more things than he realized, and his absence will reveal many who were biding their time.

2. His way of the sword is a thing that is still learned by a few people, and those who learn it are unparalleled in duels and battles. He is a legend.

And he will be making small appearances from time to time, and often those appearances will be very important to the plot.

Please review and tell me what you think!


	8. Hunting

_Shick_

It was the clean sound of a blade sliding back into its sheath. The pair cautiously made their way into the moonlit clearing, towards the source of the noise.

"Ah, Arkiloth and Rok! I had a feeling that you would be coming soon." A man walked out of the shadows and smiled, wiping his bloody hands on his clothes.

Rok bowed, while Arkiloth merely nodded his head. "A pleasant surprise, indeed, Daevr-elda." Said Rok in a polite voice. "We suspected that it was you. May I enquire the identity of the men who attacked you?"

"Hm." Daevr fingered the hilt of his sword and turned to the nine bodies that lay in a circle around the clearing. "Guess. It should not be hard for you two."

"Guess? But they have no marks on them to distin—"

"How many people are lying on the ground, Rok?" drawled Arkiloth in a low voice.

Rok turned back at his blind companion, surprised. "Nine. Why do you ask?"

"Then it confirms my suspicions. The Black Hand travels in bands of nine, which is their custom. Also…" Arkiloth sneered. "Their blood stinks of magic."

"Quite right, Arkiloth." Said Daevr in a light voice. "And do you know why that particular group is after my hide?"

Arkiloth crossed his arms. "How would we know about that?"

Daevr chuckled. "Good. If you knew the answer, I'd be worried." He glanced back at the lifeless magicians and grimaced. "I don't have a clue, either."

Rok frowned and knelt down beside one of the bodies. "These are all young men, not much older than we are. Why are these people the ones who were sent after you?"

"They were just scouts." Replied Daevr with a yawn. "The leader sends them out and sees which group doesn't come back. A savage but quite effective way to find out my location."

"So you are saying that you played right into their trap?" said Arkiloth, raising an eyebrow.

"Don't assume too much, boy." The Night Sword took out his pipe and lit it with a twist of his fingers. "Everything I do has a purpose. You'll see the result from my little decision a while later."

Arkiloth bowed his head slightly. "I believe I will be astounded when it happens, Daevr-elda."

Daevr smiled and rolled the pipe to the corner of his mouth. "That would have sounded like a real compliment if it wasn't laden with so much disdain." The man let out a long breath, laced with smoke. "You remind me of someone, someone that—"

"Do you hear it?" interrupted Rok quietly. His bow was in his hands, an arrow already fitted to the string.

"Of course." Replied Arkiloth, raising his staff slightly off the ground. "Before we ever stepped into this clearing.

"And you didn't tell me?" said Daevr as he grinned and continued to smoke his pipe. "You're a bad boy, Arkiloth."

"Nonsense." Arkiloth slowly bended his knees and grasped his weapon with both of his hands. "You've had your knife out the entire time."

"Sharp as ever, sharp as ever." Muttered Daevr with a smirk.

Gritting his teeth, Rok let loose an arrow. The bolt flew into the trees, striking through leaves and thin branches. Then, silence.

"It's the Black Hand. They are making too little noise to be normal assassins or soldiers." Said Arkiloth. "It seems that they want revenge."

The archer furrowed his brow, and continued to focus his gaze at the direction his arrow had just flown. Cautiously, he pulled out another arrow from his quiver and held it between his fingers.

"Did it reach its mark?" asked Daevr.

"I am not sure." Rok replied, drawing his bow once again. "There are too many objects that are obstructing my gaze." His fingers released the bowstring, and another arrow whistled through the forest.

"It's not that I doubt your skills, my friend… it just seems as if this is another one of your games of guesswork." Arkiloth coughed and walked beside his companion, who had taken out another arrow. "You are wasting good wood."

"Not likely." Said Rok, concentrated on the task before him. "Anyhow, you had better ready yourself. They are coming."

"I know that."

Rok let go of the bowstring, and the third arrow shot into the trees. Daevr sighed and drew his sword, holding it before him. The light footfalls were getting closer.

Seven men walked into view, the one in the lead with his hands held in front of him as a sign of truce. All of them wore masks.

Rok put down his drawn bow hesitantly, looking over to Daevr. The Night Sword nodded.

"Lower your staff, Dröttningur." Said Daevr calmly.

If Arkiloth was surprised, he did not show it. Slowly, he let his staff fall.

Wordlessly, the leader handed a sealed letter to Daevr, and bowed. Smiling, the Night Sword sheathed his sword and took the parchment.

"Send my best regards to your master, will you?" asked Daevr, examining the letter. The leader nodded stiffly and turned around, gesturing to his men to leave.

"Also, tell him not to send his new toy to places where it shouldn't be. The Zharenti will not keep silent if it continues to happen."

The leader whirled around, staring at Daevr. The Night Sword merely touched the hilt of his sword solemnly, a dangerous gleam in his eyes.

The man growled and walked out of the clearing, his men following behind him.

"A new toy?" whispered Rok.

"Aye. But it would be better if you didn't know. When the time comes, I'll tell all four of you." Daevr replied, running a hand through his hair.

"When will the time come, I wonder?" Grunted Arkiloth. Then he turned towards Rok with a smirk.

"Seven people came to meet us, my friend. That means that one of your arrows missed its target."

Rok waved off the remark with a frown. "Speaking of which… where is Elva and Vanir?"

"I met them on the way here." Replied Daevr. "Sent the two around to smoke out any rats that may be hiding in the bushes."

"But isn't it—"

"Oh, on an added note. After the pair come back, all of you pack your things and head towards Seteliel immediately. Things are not happening the way I want them to, and we are short on time."

Rok blinked. "Surely, you don't plan to—"

But it was of no use. Daevr was gone, melding into the shadows like a wraith.

"Tch." Arkiloth walked over to where his companion stood and stuffed a crumpled piece of parchment into his hand. "The man handed it to me on his way out."

Bringing it closer to his eyes, Rok tried to read it in the dim light. Finally, he made out the thin and untidy scrawl.

_Assassinate Prince Gerec of Seteliel. A thorn in our plans. Frame someone in the household afterwards. Do not leave any traces of the Zharenti._

_P.S. Also, look for a short, scrawny boy with dirty black hair. He has two scars on the back of his neck._

_P.S.S. His name is Slen._

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Sorry about the late update. I… well, I have no excuse. I was just too tired to write for a while.

Please review and tell me what you think about the story so far!


	9. Meeting

Slen grumbled as he walked down the streets of Seteliel. Cloakless, horseless and coinless, he was even poorer than the beggars on the streets. Even they had coats to ward off the cold.

The thief shivered. The north was much colder than it had been in the south, and the icy wind was threatening to freeze him on the spot. His legs and arms were already stiff from the harsh traveling. Almost every object of value left had been sold to get food, and even then sometimes he had to beg for his meals.

_Feh._ For the first time in his life, he absolutely hated thieves.

_Damn son of whores. Stealing from me like that…_ Picking up a small piece of stale bread that had fallen onto the ground, he bit into it, grimacing at the foul taste. _Damn them to hell. The people in Bullridge are worse than those in Furnost._

The journey to the capitol of Argenon was one of the worst things that the thief had ever gone through. While it was true he had used most if his coins for food and lodgings on the way, it had become worse once his horse and cloak was stolen in Bullridge. Even now, he couldn't believe that he actually managed to reach the city on foot.

_If this goes on, I'll freeze to death._

Muttering oaths under his breath, he sat down against a wall with a sigh. It had gone all wrong since he had been separated from Daevr. How many times had he been nearly killed? Four? Five?

Something moved at the corner of his eyes. He turned around, trying to get a better glimpse of the person. But the man was already gone.

Strange.

He was sure that he had seen that man once before, while he was still living with the mercena—

His eyes widened.

The mercenaries were still after him? Why? Was it because of his ties with the 

Night Sword?

Scrambling to stand up with his cold limbs, the boy rushed off into the labyrinth of alleyways in Seteliel. His feet pounded on the stone street, making more noise that he would have liked.

There were men after him. At least three, five or six at the most. He could see them running after him from a distance, even while he was weaving through the alleys. They appeared here and there, and the thief could see them in the gaps between buildings, following his trail easily.

_Bastards!_

As he ran, he noticed that the houses along his path were gradually getting larger, and more and becoming more grand. It seemed that he was entering the center of the city, where the nobles dwelt.

The streets were becoming broader. Fewer people were on the streets now, and it would be more difficult to escape from the men pursuing him. He was pushing himself past his limits already.

_There!_

A high wall of brick and stones, just beside him. Though it would be hard, the stones would serve as handholds for his climbing. It was clearly the manor of some noble of royal blood. Through the tall trees in its garden, he could see a grand house unlike any that he had seen before.

It would serve perfectly. After all, Slen was but one thief; if the group of mercenaries wished to climb in after him, they would be noticed immediately by the household guards because of their numbers. Even if they managed to avoid the detection of the soldiers, they would undoubtedly lose him in the maze of hallways. Hopefully.

Rolling up his sleeves, Slen gritted his teeth and latched onto the rocks with his hands. Bit by bit, he inched upwards, his fumbling fingers grabbing onto the harsh gray stone.

His pursuers were coming. Their footsteps were getting louder by the moment.

With a grunt, he heaved himself up over the top, and let go of the wall.

_I did it!_

But only then did he realize that there was a small pond on the other side of the very wall that he had just climbed.

"Guh!" he shouted, before he landed into the cold water with a splash.

Spluttering, he managed to climb to the edge of the pond, wiping his wet hair off his face. Chilled to the bone, he hoisted himself up onto the soft earth and tried to stop his shivering.

Scuffling sounds could be heard on the other side of the wall. Slen tried to ignore the numbness in his legs and stood up, shaking and trembling because of the cold.

Behind the trees and the bushes in the garden, he could see the outlines of a great house, only slightly smaller than the cathedral that the thief had been in awe of in Furnost. He hurried towards the manor and scuffled along the walls, looking for a door that could save him from the killing cold.

There was a loud creak, and Slen scrambled into the bushes. He watched as a servant boy came out of an old wooden door and shut it quietly. The boy tugged open his pants and started to urinate in the behind a tree that was a few paces away from the thief.

_Perfect._ As quietly as he could, he crept behind the servant boy, watching his steps carefully. Then with all his strength, he bashed down on the boy's head with a rock.

The servant slumped down immediately. Grinning, Slen dragged the body behind a cluster of trees and removed his own clothes, putting on the servant uniform instead. Satisfied, he looked over to the unconscious boy beside him and frowned. Should he kill him? Or leave him here?

Dead people don't talk. And that fitted into Slen's plans perfectly. And yet…

He sighed, and turned away. Muttering to himself, he walked over to the wooden door, and stepped inside.

The manor was incredibly warm compared to the outside, making Slen breathe a sigh of relief. He wouldn't know what he would do if all of his efforts were all for naught. The thief smiled. Fortune was definitely with him.

Unlike its outside appearance, the inside of the manor was surprisingly plain. Slowly, he made his way through the corridors, cautious for anything that came his way.

The hallways were strangely devoid of people. Only the occasional servant or guard would appear, forcing him to hide behind pieces of unused furniture. His footsteps, no matter how much he tried to silence them, would still echo through the empty space.

_It feels damn emptier than a tomb._ He thought warily. Looking around, he turned around a corner to find a place well-hid enough for him to spend the night. While dangerous, it was definitely better than freezing to death.

It was then he found the first voices he had ever heard inside the manor.

"… are you sure about your prediction?" asked a man quietly. Slen thought he heard a slight sadness in his words.

"My bones do not lie. While I admit that I may have made some insignificant errors here and there in my divining, I assure you that this direction is where your fate will take you. How you act is your decision, and yours alone." A woman answered gravely.

The voices were coming from the behind of an ornately carved wooden door. _A man and a woman, eh?_ His curiosity getting the better of him, he pressed his ear against the door to hear the conversation more clearly.

"I will continue. An unfought fight is the same as surrender to the enemy."

"Very well." There was the sound of a chair being pushed back, its wooden legs scraping against the floor. "Just don't lose yourself in your ambitions. For you know where they will end."

The woman was coming towards the door. Slen crept sideways and hid himself behind a statue. But he let his head out just enough to spy on the woman who was going to leave.

The wooden door swung noiselessly out on well-oiled hinges. A middle aged woman stepped out, a strange cat following her. In her hands were a small leather bag seemingly filled with small objects.

_What are they? _Thought Slen, bewildered.

The cat turned towards the thief's direction, and smiled widely.

_Nothing of your concern,_ the cat said. Then, it turned and left with its companion.

Slen slumped down on the floor, breathing hard. The cat had just talked with him. Talked. His breath came out in short gasps.

It was a feeling of another consciousness slipping into his mind, and staying there like a guest in his own house. Or rather, an _invader_.

It felt revolting.

His head was throbbing. A steady _tramp, tramp_ in his head was jarring his senses.

Slen's eyes snapped open, and he looked around in fear. The sound of armored footsteps weren't coming from inside his head.

From the way he had come, a group of armed guards were marching down the hallway. There were at the very least fifty men, all with broadswords and wooden shields. Their eyes were bright and alert under their helms.

The soldiers were going to see him. They were going to find him.

There was no way in hell he could ever get past those guards. It was suicide. Nor could he simply hide; the hallway was plain with only a few shadows, and the statue he now knelt behind could not even hide him from view completely.

The door.

Slen's heart raced. The door. It was the only way he could survive.

In a few light steps, the thief had reached the door, pulled it open and slipped inside…

…just to feel the touch of steel on the back of his neck.

"Now, now, now. What do we have here? A young servant boy hiding from the manor guards. And why is that?" A light, amused voice asked.

It was the voice of the man he had heard when he was eavesdropping behind the door. The one that had talked with the woman.

Slen bit back a curse. Drops of sweat were forming on his forehead.

"Name?" the man pressed.

Slen? No, that wouldn't sound right in Argenon, especially when he was supposed to be a servant boy.

"Slevnir, sir." Slen replied slowly.

"Slevnir. And your family name?"

Damn. The thief racked his brain for any famous family names that he had heard about in the Argenon Empire. After all, even servants had to be of noble blood, though of poorer descent.

"Myste. My family name is 'Myste'."

Slen could almost imagine the man behind him raising his eyebrows. The Mystes were a famous name. A great noble house known to have fallen spectacularly due to a shadowy contract, and had never gotten up from the fall ever since.

"Slevnir Myste. Indeed, a good name. Though a bit rough around the edges, it is a name well thought out and well crafted. Of course, it seems even more amazing when one discovers that it had just been made a few seconds ago."

Slen felt his blood run cold. His opponent was the worst he had ever met: clever, keen, and perceptive. Even more so than Captain Norrosk of the mercenaries. He had no chance.

His fingers crept over to his boot, where he kept his dagger. The man's hand stopped him.

"Since the two of us are strangers, I suggest a temporary truce, to find out who the other truly is. May I?"

Slen nodded slowly. The knife was removed from his neck.

"Turn around." The man said calmly. The thief tensed but did as he was told.

He came face to face with a young man only a few years older than him. His eyes were as sharp as a hawk and there was a light of intelligence in them that seemed to change the air around him.

But more importantly, there was a circlet of gold resting on his brow.

_A noble?_

"Yes, a noble." The man answered for him, and made a small bow. "Prince Rolen, second in line for the throne."

_Prince?!_

"I have introduced myself. I would like you to do the same."

A few more drops of cold sweat trickled down Slen's neck.

"Slevnir Myste. Noble of the Myste family, and currently… a thief." He muttered quietly. This was the only way he could put his lies and reality together.

"Hmm. Although I do not know whether or not you are a true Myste, I trust that the part about you being a thief is true." The man smiled. "But you are just the thing to cheer me up on a day like this."

Slen straightened up, and tried not to avoid Rolen's eyes. "And how may I do that, sire?"

Rolen's grin widened slightly, and the sharpness in his eyes was not as piercing as before.

"Chess."

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Ugh. So many things to do lately. Well, I managed to type out this chap after a few days of struggling. Sorry about its late-ness.

Must go to bed. It's not healthy to stay up at 1 AM in the morning...

Please Review!


	10. Interlude I

The man's steps echoed hollowly as he strode forwards in the wide hall. Concealing his anger behind an impassive face, he knocked twice on the thick oaken door at the end of the corridor.

"Enter." A soft voice replied firmly.

The man clenched his teeth harder and attempted to hide his shaking as he came into the room and shut the door behind him. He glared at the man before him, who was sitting behind a large desk.

"What is it that you want, Terendor? I had assumed that we had sorted out all of the problems we had when we last met. Or was there something that you had forgotten to tell me?" The sitting man leaned back against his chair and folded his fingers, waiting for the other's reply.

Terendor forced down his rising ire and pointed a finger at the man in front of him. "If we are to sort out our troubles, Svet, let me start by making this clear; I am your partner and equal. Not your assistant, nor your underling. I do not want you to order my men as if they were yours again, nor treat me as if you were my superior!" he spat.

Svet raised a hand to silence his enraged companion. "In our previous talks, I am certain that I did not imply that I am your superior. What made you presume so?"

"All of it! You did not speak it out, but every word, every action hints of it! You are not our ebrithil, Svet, and it will do you well to remember it."

Svet's eyes hardened. "Then let me tell you a fact, Terendor." He picked up a quill and twirled it between his fingers. "I have the control of an entire mercenary force that is made out of more than two thousand strong. If I wrote a message now and sent it down to my soldiers…" the quill stopped in its moments, and started to scratch on the surface of the parchment. "… telling them to kill themselves… What do you think would happen?"

Terendor snorted and glanced up at the ceiling. "All of them would be gone by daybreak, leaving without a trace."

"Wrong. They would carry out the order swiftly, in fear of what my captains would do to them. Those who do not have the intelligence to do so and attempt to escape would be hunted down and will die a painful death."

Terendor returned his gaze to Svet. "Your point?"

A hint of a cruel smile crept onto Svet's face. "You, on the other hand, have less than sixty men at your disposal. A group of death fearing magicians that is the Black Hand. Even the dullest beggar would see which one of us is superior to the other." The quill was placed back onto the desk. "That, my friend, is my point."

Terendor bared his teeth. "So that is the truth behind our little alliance, isn't it?"

"Yes, quite so." Svet responded calmly.

In an instant, Terendor's anger seemed to have vanished completely. He bowed, and said, "Forgive me, Svet. It seems that my anger has obscured my senses." Straightening himself, he held out a hand. "Is there anything else that you are going to ask of me?"

Svet nodded and picked up a scroll on his desk, handing it to the man. "These are the next few steps we are going to take to stop the Zharenti and their actions. Daevr doesn't seem to want to sit still these days."

"That so." Terendor took the scroll and held it in his gloved hands. "I will take care of it as swiftly as I can."

He turned around, and walked towards the door. But his hand stopped on the handle.

"And I will say it once again, Svet. You are not our Ebrithil. Trundar will take back what is his soon enough, and you won't be able to do anything about it."

Svet smiled slightly. "And that shows what you know about Trundar, my friend. And our Ebrithil is long dead, or as good as. He will no longer take part in our wars."

"Shows what you know about Ebrithil." Terendor opened the door, preparing to leave.

"Wait. I'll give you a piece of advice, to help you on your tasks."

Trundar shut the door and turned around slowly. "Yes?"

"The leader of the Black Hand before you was a frightening woman. A magician and swordsmaster from birth, she quickly gained power within Galbatorix's court and became the head of the most feared magician's group in Alagaesia: The Black Hand. You know this, yes?"

Terendor nodded quietly.

"Good. Then you must also know that if in terms of swordsmanship alone, she could fight our master to a standstill."

Another nod.

"Our master dueled her once, and if not for his terrifying magical abilities and his strength, he couldn't have played with her like he did with other opponents. That was the peak of the Black Hand's abilities, a time that no magician forgets."

Terendor glanced at Svet. "What is your point?"

"After her death, you entered the Black Hand through chance and ascended to the top in just a few months. They had great expectations of you; after all, you were the apprentice of the one who defeated their previous leader. But though you were more powerful than any of them, they were all disappointed."

"Your point, if you please." Terendor replied coolly.

Svet laughed. "As you wish."

A flurry of motion. A surprised yelp, and several short clangs of steel against steel. A sword was battered out of a man's hand and stuck quivering in the wooden wall. When the noises settled, Svet had his blade against Terendor's throat.

"My point, my friend, is that in the country of the blind, the one-eyed man is king." Svet removed his sword smoothly and re-sheathed it. "Heed those words."

"You are suggesting that my men follow me because I have but one eye more than them?" Terendor smiled coldly. "Perhaps. But one eye is more than enough to solve my problems." With a whirl of his cloak, he pulled his blade out of the wall and walked out of the door.

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"Quite amusing, don't you think?"

Eragon casually moved his hand over the surface of the pond, and the images of his two apprentices faded to nothing.

_If I didn't know you as well as I do now, I would have thought you were actually enjoying the sight of your former apprentices quarreling, _said a voice in his mind.

The Shadow Rider chuckled and lifted his hand again. Now, the water was displaying views from all over Alagaesia; wars, poverty, illness… the land was filled with it. From the shores of Kuasta to the deserts in Surda, people were suffering, and dying horrible deaths.

"If one knew everything that had gone by in the Dragon War, they would definitely think that I am the cause of all of this." He said lightly, turning his gaze to the skies and ignoring the misery if front of him. "And frankly speaking, I don't care that much. I'm not of Alagaesia now, after all."

_Something tells me that you're not going to sit idly as you have before, little one. What are you planning?_

"Fifteen years of absence is enough. That, and the fact that Alagaesia is in more of a mess than I had thought it would be in." Eragon laughed and took out a small silver knife, and examined it closely. "Looks like I have to be the blasted servant again and clean up their messes."

_And how do you intend to do so?_

"How I intend to do so?" The Rider grinned and looked at the giant dragon beside him. "You wouldn't know how simple it is to change the world and tilt the scales in the right direction. Remember this; when the great Arkiloth the Black was on the roam, the Varden and the Empire paused their actions for ten years just because they didn't know which side I stood on. And in the end, it was I who dealt the finishing blow."

_Very modest, little one._ Saphira curled up and stifled a sound that was definitely laughter.

Eragon spread his arms. "What I speak is naught but truth. And many others could accomplish much more than I have, if they had my abilities and my position. But that is not what I am trying to say." The silver haired Shur'tugal turned and looked up at his companion.

"You might have noticed these past few days, but I have been slowly working my spells and magicks toward a certain fool now in Alagaesia. That, will be the weight in which I will use to tip the scales." The former Shadow Rider positioned the knife's point on his left shoulder, and breathed in. "Forcing the final parts of the sorcery onto him would present a problem though, and it would be extremely taxing."

_Even for you?_

"Even for me." With that, he drove the knife into his flesh.

Eragon remained impassive as he drew the blade across his arm, blood spurting out in vast amounts. He continued to carve and slice, the wounds forming into a crimson pattern.

_Are you sure this is the right way, little one? _Asked Saphira in a worried tone.

Eragon did not answer. Instead, he transferred the knife to his shaking left hand and proceeded onto his right. Blood splattered before him, but his face was without emotion.

"And with this final stroke…" Eragon murmured. He dropped the knife and put out his blood-soaked right hand before him. "… the bonds of blood will be strengthened beyond any bond there is."

The blood on the ground began to spread.

"The chains shall be strengthened." Whispered Eragon.

The blood on the ground began to form a vague circle.

"The barriers will fall."

Runes formed from the running blood, and the shape on the ground began to sharpen in clarity. The liquid seemed to pulse, as if it had a life of its own.

"And with it, the promised victory will come."

The runes aligned, and the blood developed into a full circle with the knife in the center. Lines and shapes glistening with magical power shone with a bloody light.

On last drop of blood fell from the Rider's hand, onto the circle below.

"And the crimson shall flow."

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Feh. Finally summer vacation, and yet I'm still stressed out. I don't think I can handle any more…

Hmm. People seem to be losing interest in this fanfic. Can't blame 'em though. It's having less and less to do with the canon universe, after all.

Oh well. Looks like I'll have to forcibly bring Eragon back into the picture, as many of you have suggested. (Snaps on surgery gloves and takes out an assortment of large scalpels.) Reconstruction time, baby.

Tell me what you think!


	11. Of Princes and Crowns

It was a massacre.

Slen had never tasted such defeat in his entire life. Yes, he had been through his share of loss and frustration, but this was much different.

"Well, that was certainly a good match."

The thief watched as the prince leaned back into his seat with a smile, all traces of weariness gone from his face. Slen resisted the urge to pick up a chess piece and throw it at Rolen's head.

"Believe it or not, you're actually one of the better opponents that I've played with. Despite having almost no experience at all, you've not only talent but also an excellent mind. Where did you learn how to play?"

Slen shrugged. "One picks up these kinds of things if he stays on the streets long enough."

"Is that so? Rolen raised an eyebrow and stood up, pacing around the room. "Then may I enquire why a Myste like you is wandering around my mansion with servant's clothes on? I've heard that most Mystes were working in the palace… definitely not as thieves on the streets. You're not here to steal or something, I'd presume?"

"I was… running away from a few people who seem to be unpleased about what I did." Slen shrugged again. "An extremely troublesome bunch."

"In short, you planned to hide here."

Slen shuffled uneasily under the prince's gaze. Rolen laughed.

"You can stay. I won't drive away a guest who just had a match with me." Rolen walked to the window and sighed. "Especially since you took my mind off something that has been troubling me for a while now."

Slen furrowed his brow._ Should I run? He states that I can stay, yet… no. It is too dangerous to stay here when I've already been found out. He could kill me the next moment._

"And what is that problem?" The thief asked. It would be best if he just continued the conversation for now. The man was dangerous, and any foolish movements would mean the end of him.

"My brother intends to kill me."

Slen got out of his chair and went to the window as well. It would be better to be closer to the prince, as he would be a good hostage if the thief wished to escape from this place. For some particular reason, guards were patrolling the corridors in great numbers unlike before. He could hear the dull _tramp, tramp_ of their boots even through the closed door.

"And why would he want that?" Asked Slen in a low voice. If he could catch him off guard…

"Haven't you listened to one word I've said, Slevnir?" The Prince turned to Slen. "I'm second in line for the throne. The crown prince is my brother."

"…And?" Slen stopped in his steps, confused. So what if the man was the brother of the future king?

"Do I have to spell it out for you?" Rolen snapped, and banged his fist on the window. "The king… that is, our father, passed away a few weeks ago. My brother is already preparing for his ascension to the throne, but it is clear to him that some of his power will be held from him by myself"

"How so?" Slen asked, now truly interested. The hand that had been reaching towards his knife stopped.

"It is… an unwritten message passed down to us by our father, and every noble in the palace knows of it. But the main point is that unlike our father, my brother will not have complete control over the country. Other than that, the one thing that he cannot stand is that I will have half of the Empire's army enlisted under my command."

"What!"

"Exactly." Rolen smirked bitterly. "Our king had a sick sense of humor. However, 

this way might be for the best; after all, in our country, only the strong survive."

Slen's jaw dropped in disbelief. "This is like… your father is forcing you two into a death match to see who takes the crown."

"Yes. But viewing the circumstances now, the battle is quite one-sided. The generals and nobles have always favored my brother because he has always seemed to be simpler, easier to control. That is why they will all stand by his side." Rolen chuckled. "Yet, they are very much mistaken. My brother has always been cunning and a brilliant actor."

"But that doesn't change anything."

"Indeed it doesn't. No matter what the reasons are, I still will be killed if I wished to end this with a pure political struggle." The prince ran a hand through his hair and sighed. "I had underestimated him. I should have made my move three years ago, and because of the fact that I—"

A knocking sound startled the pair.

"Someone is at the door." Said Rolen quietly. "Quick, hide behind the shelves. That should shield you from view."

Slen swiftly did as he was told and scurried towards his hiding place. Once Rolen made sure that he was well hidden, the prince opened the door.

"May I enquire—"

Then, Rolen's words stopped, as if he had been suddenly struck numb. Slen had to hold back his urge to peek out.

"Well, well, well. It seems that your manor is as beautiful as ever, Rolen."

Rolen seemed to have regained his composure quickly.

"Ah, brother. What brings you here to my humble home? If you had sent a messenger to me first, I would have prepared for your coming." Replied the prince in an unshaking voice. Slen noticed that his voice had regained its liquid like 

smoothness. No sign of the previous surprise and alarm could be felt.

"I was merely passing by. Is it not alright for two brothers to meet each other casually once in a while?"

_Rolen's brother… the crown prince…_ thought Slen.

"While it is, I doubt that you came all the way here just for idle chatter. What do you want?"

"Blunt as usual, Rolen. Very well, I shall go straight to what's important." The voice paused and then continued on. "You know about our situation, brother. We are not the ones in control here. The nobles are. If we let them do as they wish, we might be murdered 'accidently' during some moonless night and be buried in a godforsaken pile of dung. It is of utmost importance that one knows how to act, and when."

"And by this you mean?"

"It means that we are in danger. You more so than I. You are still too young to play in this game." Slen heard the sounds of a person pacing around the room. "The nobles will start to target you because of your youth, and bright as you might be, you won't be able to hold them off for long. Believe it or not, the wolves are already at the gates."

Rolen coughed. "And what do you expect me to do if that were the case?"

The footsteps stopped. "You should flee from Seteliel. I will take care of things from here. When everything settles down, I will send a messenger to you."

A chuckle. "When everything settles down… you mean when you have successfully become king?"

"Aye. And anyhow, it's getting late. Think about what I've said, and get a good night's rest, brother." The door creaked open, and the only sounds that could be heard next were the steps fading into the distance.

_The guards are gone. No one is patrolling the hallways in this area anymore._

"Hm. Slevnir? He is gone."

Slen stepped out, stuck out his tongue and grimaced. "So that's your brother. Very pleasant."

Rolen had a similar look on his face. "Yes. Very pleasant."

"So why was he here? Surely not to tell you to run off like a frightened rabbit?"

"It was a challenge." Answered Rolen, who walked over to his chair and sank down into it with a groan. "And a message of warning."

Slen frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I've known him long enough to know when he wants to fight and when he doesn't." said Rolen tiredly. "While he was telling me to leave, his eyes were begging me to stay. To finish some issues between us, if you would understand."

"Ah."

"Exactly. And did you notice that he had just walked in here unobstructed, and not even one of my men informed me of the fact that the crown prince was about to meet me?" The prince laughed. "That is simply unthinkable. Such nerve of him, my brother. He just informed me quite rudely that none of my men should be trusted, and that in reality he has all the soldiers in Seteliel under his control. Listen."

The thief listened hard, straining his ears. "Wha—"

Only then did he realize the difference. A steady march of boots were slowly growing in volume until they resumed their previous position before the doors.

"Yes, the guards are back again. He orders my men around as if they were his, and in truth they are. I'm not being protected by the footmen outside my door; I'm being held captive by them." Rolen began to silently set the chess pieces back into position. "In any way, I am at a lower hand. So it would be best if we did not think of such troubling matters, as every conclusion would be the same."

"You mean that you are going to—"

"Another match?" yawned Rolen lazily. He gestured to the chess board.

Slen bit back his remark and nodded. It wasn't that he agreed with the prince's way of solving the problem… but the look on his face told him that Rolen had plans of his own.

"And let me get this straight now."

Slen looked up from the board. "Uh… aye?"

"As a Myste, you are now my servant and my slave. You will listen to me alone, and follow my every word."

The thief blinked in surprise, and growled. "And what makes you think that I will?"

Rolen stared impassively back. "For one like you to have such knowledge of my secrets… I cannot let such a person out alive. If you were to stay, then that would be another matter."

Slen immediately whipped out his dagger. But he was too slow.

The prince's sword was already placed on his collar bone. Slen spat on the ground angrily.

"So, it is your choice. Stay with me, and live. Attempt to leave this room, and die. Will you take me as your lord, or will you not?"

Slen snarled. "That's not a choice at all."

"That it isn't. It's my first order."

The thief grumbled and nodded slowly. Rolen smiled and withdrew his blade.

Then, without warning, Slen lunged across the table, scattering chess pieces everywhere on the intricately designed carpet. His knife was gripped tightly, and he could almost feel the sensation of it piercing through the prince's flesh.

"Well done."

In a flurry of movement, Slen found himself lying on the floor on his back. His head throbbed as if it was on fire. _What in hell happened?_

"If you have simply just given in like that, I would have lost hope in you. You are the person that I'm searching for."

_That bastard._

"So you want someone who wants your life as your servant?" muttered Slen.

"Preferably not. But I want someone that is wily and daring enough to help accomplish my goals. And there is not a chance that you will be able to kill me."

Slen rolled himself upright and stood up. "Oh, I may have been a thief, Rolen. I may have spent most of my life wasting away in sewers, trying to hide from others. But for me, there is nothing in this world," The thief smirked, a hint of malice in it, "that cannot be accomplished if I have the right tools."

"Then I'll be sure to give you those tools some day, and see what you can do. Another match, Slevnir?"

"Certainly."

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Just rounding off some stuff that happened previously. As I've said before, it's harder than I thought to just create a character out of thin air and expect him to go where you want him to. Well, I get it right in the end. Hopefully.

On an added note, though I've said before that Eragon will be participating in this war, one must keep in mind that he must never set foot in Alagaesia again. I've found a way around that, but I still have to tell you he's not coming back in person.

Also, some of the more important characters of CP's will be appearing quite shortly.

Please tell me what you think!


	12. Of Sons and Fathers

"That act was insanity."

"That it was. What is the Queen thinking?"

"The Queen does whatever she thinks best for the people, and—"

"I refuse to believe that remark. She is humiliating the entire Elven civilization by simply suggesting these things!"

"Silence!" barked a young noble near the end of the table. "A few losses and the entire Elven council is falling to its knees? Calm yourselves!"

"And who are you to give such comments?" growled another elf. "A mere child with not even a century's worth of experience? Nay, it is you who does not know what is truly happening to us, youngling."

A hand was slowly raised into the air, and the arguing nobles were almost immediately silenced. The Elf lord folded his hands and sighed.

"It has changed much since Queen Islanzadi died, and her daughter took the throne. During the war, many that was once of this council had fallen, and now the faces I see are new, and afraid." He sighed once again. "But please, have confidence in our Queen. She is diligent, and above all, one of the wisest of all that have once ruled our people."

"Why so, Dathedr-elda? She is clearly unready, and she is younger than even most of us—"

"She has matured beyond her years and shows great promise. I trust her, and I am quite certain that it will be she that takes us out of the confusion and chaos that we are in now."

A low laugh full of detest came from the other end of the table.

Dathedr turned his head around and fixed his gaze on the elf. His once calm eyes were full of anger.

"And what would you have to say, Cesis-vodhr? Does something amuse you?"

Cesis laughed again as he toyed with the silver circlet that was resting on his brow.

"Oh, dear, dear Lord Dathedr. After all these years of working in this council, so selflessly and with such vigor… he must have lost his mind under all the strain…"

"If you do not state what you are going to say immediately, it will be not only your mind that you're going to lose." Whispered Dathedr in a low voice.

"Then I'll make this short. Dathedr-vor, have you ever seen her son?"

Hushed murmurs broke out throughout the entire room. Dathedr gritted his teeth.

"And what are you implying?"

Cesis' casual smirk suddenly disappeared, and his lips thinned. "Don't tell me that you've never noticed, Dathedr-vor. That boy of hers…" The elf snarled, and his hand unconsciously went to the hilt of his sword. "He stinks. All of him. Being around him is like being in… a maelstrom. A maelstrom of evil thoughts, acts, souls, feelings—"

"The very sight of him makes me want to flee." Muttered another elf.

"The thoughts of every person sitting at this table, I trust." Added an elf looking to be the oldest in the council.

"The darkness in him, the evil that resides in his body… it is stronger than anything that I've ever seen, something not of this world and beyond compare." Cesis frowned as he leaned on the table, and then continued. "When around him, you can literally _taste_ the shadows that are coming off him in wisps. He is no mere shadeling."

"Cesis!" yelled Dathedr. "What did you just say?"

"Shadeling." Hissed Cesis. "We all know it, so why hide it in our hearts? We know what kind of bastard his father was, and what kind of false hero he was—"

"That is quite enough, Cesis." Said a mournful voice. The voice was quiet and tinged with melancholy, soft as the smoothest silk; yet, the killing intent the words radiated were enough to shock the entire council into silence. There was no mistaking it.

Cesis whirled around, face pale as a sheet. "Q-Queen Arya! When did you—"

"When you started this little quarrel." The elf queen walked soundlessly to her throne, her feet not making the barest noise.

"Is it tradition for Queens to sneak in and eavesdrop on her councilors words?" Demanded another elf lord, trying to hold down the shaking in his voice. "You did not announce your coming, and you did not—"

"I was standing near the door, and yet all of you refused to see. Whose fault is that? And enough of this." The Queen sat down on her throne, seemingly unfazed by the vicious insults that she had previously heard. "I hear that some of have had problems with the new trading alliances?"

"With all due respect, your majesty." Cesis said in a low voice. "Even though our magic has gone from us, we are different from those filthy humans. Also, we cannot destroy the image of invincibility that we have created over the ages. If we start this plan, we will be placing ourselves as equals with them—"

"The second point you said makes a valid argument. However, it is a thing that we must do to prevent a total collapse of our nation." said the Queen, expression unreadable. "Our supplies have been severely limited ever since the Dragon War, and unless one of you can think of a way to feed all our people, then this issue is decided. Send a messenger to me when you have finished the documents." With that, Queen Arya Drottningu stood up walked out of the hall without another word, leaving aghast elf lords and shocked advisors behind her.

"And so it is decided." Said Lord Dathedr grimly. "What she says is true, whether we like it or not."

Cesis sighed and turned to Dathedr. "Dathedr-vor. Have you lost your sense of Elven pride? I just cannot accept this."

"Neither can I. But it is the only option we have." Dathedr grimaced and handed the pile of parchment over to him. "Your turn to sign."

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Unlike when she was younger, when Arya was in a foul temper she did not go into the forest, where it was tranquil and serene. The filtered sunlight and the quietness between the trees only served to unnerve her. It was strange; to think that the elf that had spent most of her youth and life within the branches would feel so uncomfortable and awkward. It was as if that being under the leaves itself was an act of wrongness.

Ironically, she instead often chose to sit in Rhunon's forge, where the noisy clanging of metal against metal and the fiery roar of the flames calmed her nerves. It returned peace to her more than the forest ever could these years.

"So the council is being the bunch of fools they are?"

The Queen groaned. "Would you mind not being so straight about it, Rhunon-elda?"

The old elf chortled and resumed her work. "Good, good. You are being much livelier than those times fifteen years ago. At least in front of me."

Arya smiled slightly. "The council, like me, wishes the best for the Elven population. Of that I know."

"But even you have to admit that they aren't doing anything useful." The hammer pounded repeatedly on the anvil.

"That is… true, in a way."

"Alone, a person cannot do anything; while in a group, people can decide together that nothing can be done." Quoted Rhunon with a small grin as she continued to hammer the heated metal. "It's hard to believe, but sometimes it is so."

"I do not hold a grudge against them. These are troubled times, especially for the elves. It is understandable if they are afraid." The elven queen sighed. "It is understandable."

"Even if they are afraid of your own son?" murmured Rhunon. There was a hiss as she placed the metal into the cool water. Vapor and steam filled the room.

Arya stayed silent for a few moments. Then laughed bitterly.

"It is understandable."

Rhunon shook her head sadly. "That is true. Though he is a wonderful lad once you know him."

"I doubt that anyone would be in a hurry to do so."

"Indeed. Well, there was that boy… Rok, wasn't it?" The smith reached out and grabbed her hammer again. "And Vanir. Not to mention that little girl, Elva."

Arya smiled wryly and said, "If they hadn't come to him he would have lost his mind by now, one would think."

"Exactly. Do you remember how he was when he was younger?"

"I wouldn't want to. Those were dark days, for me and for him."

"Ah. Well, enough of this. It's time to go directly to the point." Rhunon turned her gaze towards the Elven Queen. "Arya, you know that Arkiloth is hindering you in every aspect, aye?"

The Queen raised an eyebrow. "Which one?"

"Both. The older one, and the younger one." Rhunon sighed. "Because of them, the people don't trust you. If you don't—"

"Cut ties with them?" Interrupted Arya coolly.

"In a sense, yes. You would be able to rule more efficiently, and it would be a winning situation for all."

The Queen laughed, but it contained no mirth at all. Rather, it was filled to the brim with frustration.

"No. The only reason that I sit on the throne is because of _him_. If I do so, who will I fight for?" Still laughing, the Queen nodded her head slightly to Rhunon before leaving the room, her crimson cape billowing behind her.

Rhunon stared in silence at the closed door.

"Who… the older one or the younger one?"

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Feeling a bit down. Tired, too. I thought a lot about how to write this chapter, and in the end it still didn't meet my expectations.

And this story is losing support, and rapidly. Oh well.

Please tell me what you think!


	13. Of Strolls and Assassinations

"This way please, my lord."

A smile spread across the Prince's face. "So your master will see me?"

The servant bowed deeply. "Yes, my lord. Master Duranor says that it is his honor."

"How polite of him."

The servant bowed again and opened the wooden door, waiting for Rolen to enter. The prince nodded his head.

"Then Slevnir, you shall wait here until I finish my business with Lord Duranor. Please do not go wander off anywhere in the palace. I will be finished shortly."

Slen, now named Slevnir, nodded glumly. "Yes, m'lord."

"Good. Then please lead the way…"

Slevnir watched Prince Rolen follow the servant into the room with clean strides, gritting his teeth as the door shut smoothly after them. It was not that he hated him, but sometimes the man could be so—

He groaned, but as quietly as he could, hoping that Rolen didn't hear him. Once he was sure that his master was out of earshot, he started to spit out vile words that he was sure that even the foulest street thugs in Kuasta wouldn't know.

"Damn son of a whore. Lording over me like that." The former thief looked around the vast space, finding nothing of any interest in the area. "And to think that I had once thought that he was likeable."

Indeed, Rolen wasn't a cruel person. But somehow, Slevnir felt that he was examining him somehow, and that unnerved him. Every time he saw that knowing smile, he felt like tearing the hair out of his head and screaming at the top of his voice.

And at last, he was alone. No arrogant princes to serve, and almost nothing to worry about. If he knew what was good for him, he should stay here and treasure this moment as a smart person would do.

But wait. There was no one in the hallways. And even if there was, no one would take notice of him as he was in a servant's uniform. So what if he took a small stroll?

_Got to get rid of this, though,_ thought Slevnir as he ripped off the small badge that had the insignia of the Prince carved onto it. It wouldn't bode well if he wore this in the palace, a place where almost all enemies of Rolen lived. Suicidal would be the best way to describe it. This was the Argenon _palace_, after all. The home of the soon-to-be King and all of his supporters.

"I'd rather be dumped in horse manure than follow your orders to the very letter, o' mighty and wonderful lord," he muttered. "and it would be nice to be able to explore this place by myself."

The act was childish, and Slevnir knew it. But days of being at Rolen's side left him feeling fuming and frustrated. He sometimes even found himself longing for the dirty alleys of Furnost.

And that was never a good sign for a sane person.

Whistling to himself, he studied his surroundings in awe as he wandered around the corridors. It wasn't as grand or beautiful as one might have expected for a palace, but the very walls radiated the power and strength of the royal family. And he smiled. Who would have thought that a mere thief and street rat like him would have the chance to walk the hallways and paths of the greatest mansions in all of Alagaesia?

His spirits were lifted, and he everything that happened in the past few days felt like a dream. Who care if he was the target of a band of mercenaries? Who cared if he was now the current servant to a prince who was struggling to survive in the world of bloody politics?

His roaming feet took him into a large study, with large shelves tall enough to touch the ceiling. Each and every one of them were filled with thick books, larger than Slevnir would have thought possible.

_Insane_, he thought as he looked curiously at the tomes. This is what the nobles read? He couldn't read anything except for his own name, and Rolen was the one who taught him that a few days ago. Deep in thought, he looked out the window and into the dark, endless night.

"Who owns this room?" he muttered aloud. Moving from spot to spot, he shifted his gaze across the space to see if he could see any hint of who used this room. Surely there should be something here that could show his rank, or his crest. Something like…

_Ah._ Slevnir grinned as he picked up a page of parchment from the desk. It seemed to be a document of some sort, and there was a signing on the bottom of the paper; but it was obvious that he couldn't read it. But usually, papers such as this had the crest stamped somewhere near the top. Though he didn't know many of them, Slevnir was fairly confident that he could find out. After all, there were only that many noble families that lived in the palace, and Rolen had talked to the former thief about them at great length.

"Damn it, Svet! How many times have I said that you cannot meet me in the palace!"

Slevnir's blood ran cold as he recognized the crest, and the voice, at the same time.

"Calm yourself, Crown Prince Gerec." Said another man in an amused tone. "It is an unpleasant experience for those who see you like this."

"You worthless mercenary! You expect me to stay calm after I found out about your failure? And then you come waltzing in the palace as if it were your home? I think not! I called off all the guards in the area just because of you!"

"Other people want my services, Crown Prince. And many of them are willing to pay twice the feeble amount you give me."

Slevnir held his breath as he wedged himself in a dark space between several shelves. They were coming in the room.

"A contract is a contract. You agreed to destroy the Zharenti for me and after ten months of time I find that you have made no progress at all? The clock is ticking, Svet. Only less than eight weeks is left, mercenary." The wooden door slammed shut as the furious prince shoved it with all his strength. Though Slevnir couldn't see the other man's face, he could tell that he was unfazed by the obvious fury that Gerec was expressing.

The man named Svet chuckled. "Daevr is a slippery fish. I'm afraid if I were a normal man you would have no chance at all at catching him."

"Exactly." Gerec snarled. "The only reason that I have you do this is because that you both have served under that Shadow Rider. You know him. Most don't. If it were not for this reason, you would have never been chosen!"

"I feel honored. Even though it clearly wasn't a compliment."

Breathing hard, Gerec banged his fist on the desk. After a few long moments, he muttered, "Get out of my sight. You have eight weeks time, and don't forget that."

Svet sighed, and there was a swish of a cloak as he made towards the door. "Do try to stay alive until then, Crown Prince. Your brother is watching your actions closely, and even now he's not far away. He's gathering nobles to him as possible allies at this very moment, down several hallways."

"He's nothing of concern!" Barked Gerec. "Find Daevr, and kill him. That's all you have to think about now."

The door swung open with only the slightest noise, but the footsteps stopped at the doorway. Slevnir strained his ears to hear what the man was saying.

"There's a small rat holed up among the shelves. Seal his tongue for me, could you?"

_A small rat among the shelves._ Blood rushed into his head, and he felt a sudden bought of dizziness. Flee? Fight? Both were out of the question. How was a man supposed to handle death so many times in his lifetime?

Gerec sneered. "I would have done so without your little hint. Begone."

The footsteps continued, and they faded into the distance. A clear note was heard, and Slevnir had no doubt that it was the drawing of a sword.

"Come out. If you do, I will make it easier for the both of us." Called the prince's lazy and uncaring voice.

Flee? Fight?

"I will give you three seconds. If you do not come out at the last count, I shall send you to the torture chambers instead of taking your life simply and quickly. It is your choice."

Too dangerous. Too dangerous either way.

"One."

Either way led to death. What had he done? This whole thing was a thing to laugh at. He was going to die. Just like this.

"Two."

What had he done to deserve this? This was a joke. Was he going to be killed like this, like he almost had been several times before?

"You have made your choice. Thr— Hellfire!"

A shattering of the window. A sudden clang as two swords clashed together. A stumbling sound as Gerec fell back from the sheer force of the blow.

The whistling of two swords dancing through the air. The noise of books falling off the shelves, then ripped open as a blade passed through the pages. Parchment scattered everywhere, the sound of a thousand butterflies.

"Bitch!"

Frantic steps, and fearful swearing. The smell of blood, that was gradually getting thicker by each passing second. The books continue to fall.

Finally, he could bear it no longer. He stood up, walked around the surrounding shelves and saw the scene for himself.

It was strange. As Slevnir watched the bloody fight, he couldn't help but feel an overwhelming sense of awe. He should have been trembling. He should have been trying to muffle his screams. Instead, his feet moved as if they had a mind of their own, and brought him ever closer to the battlefield.

Then, it stopped.

A young woman, with a bloody sword in hand. A man on the brink of collapse, clutching a bloody arm and holding his blade in front of him. Numerous wounds were on his body, sometimes narrowly missing the vitals. His neck was marked with at least five.

"Damn bitch." He breathed. "Shadow Rider skills, if I'm not mistaken. Who is your master?"

The woman did not answer, her face obscured by her long hair. She started to move forward.

Gerec laughed bitterly. "To think I would die under one of my orders… I shouldn't have called the guards away. Damn that Svet." With a shaking hand, he wiped at the blood at the corner of his mouth. But the scarlet continued to drip in larger amounts down his chin.

The bloody sword came closer. Slevnir moved forwards as well, transfixed by the scene. His mind was blank. His feet felt like they didn't belong to him.

"I guess this is the end." Murmured the prince. He let out a strangled hiss as the blade passed swiftly into his torso, and then was pulled out with the grace of a striking snake.

In a few unsteady steps, he stumbled backwards until he collided with the thief coming from behind.

Slevnir blinked as the world slid into focus again as he fell down onto the ground. The unfamiliar weight on his chest caused him to cough. Rubbing his blurry eyes, he tried to see what was on top of him.

Then he saw the corpse.

It wasn't uncommon for one to see bodies in the streets of any city in Alagaesia. There were the fortunate and the unfortunate, and the latter would often be struck down by the harshness of the miserable times. The former thief was no stranger to death; after all, he had taken a few lives by himself. But this was very, very different.

The face was wearing an eerie smile, and it was only inches to Slevnir's own. Blood was leaking out of the gap between the cold lips, dripping steadily onto the thief's face. One drop entered his right eye.

Shuddering, he turned his head to the side and heaved.

Through choked breaths and ragged gasps, he saw the woman look at him with a disinterested gaze. Her arms were at her sides, one resting on the hilt of the sword which had returned to its sheath. Her dark hair flowed like moving water as the wind came through the broken window. Only then could he see her face in full.

Another bought of coughing. A vile taste at the back of his throat. Half of his face was covered in his own vomit. But those were not the reasons that he stayed wordless.

She was beautiful. Beautiful enough to silence all the sounds that he could make.

That fear of dying was gone, replaced with sheer wonder. The only thing in his fading vision was the figure of the lone woman by the window. Moonlight streamed in, making the floor shine like silver. Her dark hair glittered.

And those eyes.

Violet eyes...

Those were the last things he saw as he passed into darkness.

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So, yeah. You know who she is, right?

Nothing much to say except that I was looking forward to this chapter. Hope most of you did as well.

Please tell me what you think!


	14. Of Lies and Gambles

Slevnir awoke to find himself in the most comfortable bed that he had ever laid on. The sheets were made of the softest silk, the pillows filled with white feathers that he did not recognize.

_Why the hell am I here?_ He wondered.

He groaned and sat up, rubbing his eyes. He noticed that his servant clothes had been changed as well, into something far more elegant and grand. He almost looked like a noble.

"Awake?"

He turned his head around and saw Rolen scratching something with his quill on a piece of parchment. A huge pile of similar documents lay on the desk beside it, waiting to be read and signed. The prince was smiling, and the morning sun shone upon his face.

"Uh… aye?" Slevnir answered dazedly.

"Good, good. When I picked you up from that floor, Slevnir, I was afraid that you've died in your attempt. Seeing you alive and going on as you always did brings tears to one's eyes."

"Aye?" The thief struggled to comprehend what Rolen was saying.

"Believe it or not, Myste, you've just sped my plans forward a few years with that stupidly brave act of yours." Rolen stood up from his seat and stretched his arms, yawning as he did so. "Just walking into his room and murdering him on the spot… I had no idea you were such a killer, boy."

Slevnir blinked. "Killer?"

The prince frowned at his question. "Why, yes. You killed my brother, did you not?"

"Gerec?" mumbled Slevnir as he got up from the bed.

Rolen raised an eyebrow. "You mean you didn't know it was him that you killed?"

_What in the Shadow Rider's name is damn going on?_

The former thief shook his head slightly, trying not to look as confused as he was. "Uh… I knew it was him. Someone said his name."

"Is that so?" Apparently taking his word for truth, the prince returned to his seat, but sat facing Slevnir. "And now, I want to know how you managed it. Gerec is widely known to be one of the best swordsmen in the royal family. Not just any street rat has the ability to send him to the underworld. So, enlighten me."

Enlighten him? When I don't even know how he died? What is he—

Then all of it came back. Not in a flash, but rather as slow as mud dripping into his mind, filling his head with the memories that he had forgotten. He started to remember everything; the walk, the deadly duel between the shelves, and the violet eyed woman. Finally, he grasped what had happened.

"How did you find me?" Slevnir asked instead.

The prince stroked his chin and smiled. "Want my story first? Well then." He steepled his fingers and looked directly at Slevnir." After the talk with Duranor, I came out of his room noticing that you've vanished. So I started to walked around in hopes of finding you. After all, the palace is only that large. I felt that you could be found in a reasonably short time."

Rolen tapped his fingers on the desk as he talked. "It was then I noticed several strange things. There was an absence of guards around the halls and no servants were to be seen. And above all, I smelt an overwhelming stench of blood coming from my brother's room. Naturally, I opened his door to see what had happened. Imagine my surprise when I saw Gerec's corpse lying over your unconscious body. What surprised me more was that you were holding a knife. And it was covered in his blood."

_Covered in his blood?_

"So, how did you do it?" The prince leaned forward, eager for an answer. Slevnir swallowed.

_It wasn't me! It was that woman, that she-assassin that tore through Gerec's swordsmanship like it wasn't there! She must have tried to frame me for the murder!_

"It wasn't—" but then, he stopped. A barely noticeable grin crept onto the thief's face.

"Aye. I struck him from behind, so the fight was decided from the beginning. That's all there is to it."

Rolen frowned. "You attempted to catch _the_ Prince Gerec by surprise, and succeeded?"

"I'm a thief. Never underestimate my skills, m'lord." He bowed his head in mock-respectfulness. "I've told you before that for me, nothing cannot be accomplished if I have the right tools. This time, I had them; an empty room, a frustrated prince that wasn't paying attention to his surroundings, and my dagger."

"And after you killed him, you were so scared of his corpse that you heaved right there on the spot and fainted?"

"…it was disgusting and vile. If you had been there, you would have been the same."

Prince Rolen laughed aloud, almost making Slevnir jump in surprise. "I've just found out that I really like you, Slevnir. Very much indeed. You have my thanks, and my respect."

Slevnir grinned as well. "So, what now, m'lord?"

The prince shrugged and looked out the window. "Nothing much. I've sent the few men that I have to spread rumors of what I want the people to believe. Always make the best of any situation that comes your way."

"And what do you want the people to believe?" asked the thief.

Rolen chuckled. "That Gerec had personally tried to murder me, but his plans were foiled by a brave young servant boy. A servant boy soon to be my personal advisor as well as weapons master."

"Will the people believe the story? And wait, did you say that—"

"Personal advisor and weapons master. I believe that I've said that. Also, if the people do not believe, which I do not think will happen, I will simply convince them. You know how convincing I am when I need be."

"I'd rather I didn't."

"Most men would think that. But from now on, you won't be 'most men', Myste." Rolen strode calmly over to door and put his hand on the wooden knob. "You are one of the most powerful nobles in Alagaesia. Rest for now. I still have some work that needs sorting."

"Yes, my lord." Said Slevnir with a bowed head.

"The best of luck for the both of us." Called Rolen as he closed the door behind him.

Slevnir sighed and lay back down on the bed. _Always make the best of any situation that comes your way._ Rolen's words, and he was doing exactly that.

But was it for the best? The thief wasn't sure. Fooling the entire nation and throwing the truth away like it never existed was not something that could be done casually.

Damn that. He had always been a gambler. And in this particular venture, the rewards were great while the stakes were something close to none.

And what were the stakes?

His own worthless life, of course. Something that he had gambled with all his life.

Slevnir's thoughts drifted back to that violet eyed assassin. Now, she was the only one that knew the whole truth of the matter. The question was that of her tongue. Would she talk of it?

She had framed him. She had no reason to speak of the assassination.

But…

"Dead men don't talk." Slevnir said firmly. "Or in this case, women."

With that, he rolled over and closed his eyes.

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To all of those who read my stories:

As we all know, Night of the Falling Stars seems to be losing support rapidly. I don't care about the number of reviews as much as most writers on this site do, but I think that it is probably time that I move on to creating another fanfiction. After all, it doesn't seem to suit the tastes of my readers. And if that is so, then why continue?

From the poll that is right at the very top of my profile, anyone can see that what most people want is a continuation of a story, fulfilling the desire to read a "sequel" while waiting for the real one. The Night of the Falling Stars strays from that, as it is merely a continuation of a continuation. And that's not what people want. (In my case) people want to see Eragon, the true main character of the series struggling through his battles and problems. Not half baked characters which were made by some high-schooler. If one wanted to read a story composed of (mostly) new characters, logically he would go to the bookstore, where the stories of professional writers are kept on shelves.

So, it all comes down to this: Do you want me to continue? Or do you want me to start writing a second "Third Book" scenario in which I will create another entirely different path for Eragon to tread? (Not too angsty this time, I promise.) Though I probably won't be able to complete it (September 20 is the release date, after all...), that is what most people would want.

If you have any suggestions, please PM me and tell me what you think.


	15. Of Wolves and Reappearances

Surprised murmurs arose and fell as the mercenaries watched a young man, seemingly in his early twenties, walk into their campsite without so much as a greeting. Head tilted up and whistling a cheery tune, he looked nothing more than just an innocent townsfolk that was going on a midnight stroll.

Yet, none of the soldiers stopped him. They stopped in the middle of their work and stared as the man passed by, but they made no move to stop him. No one, including themselves, knew why. It was probably because of the ridiculousness of the entire situation, and no one knew how to react. It was probably because of his obvious ease in his surroundings. It was probably because of the long, wrapped object on his back that had to be a weapon of some kind.

Either way, it wasn't until he reached the command tent that someone actually attempted to stop him.

"Halt your steps!" The young guard spoke out in a firm voice. "It is—"

"Oh, be gone." The man simply sighed, pushed passed the soldier and entered the large tent on his own. The looking mercenaries watched the scene, slack-jawed. Some of the braver ones decided to follow him into the tent; and with the quietest steps, they did so.

"I'm looking for the captain of this camp!" he hollered as soon as he stepped inside. "It's important!"

There was a rustle as all of the people in the tent turned to look at him. However, the man still had that lazy grin, and it was as if nothing could take it off.

Looking up from a map that was spread across the table, Captain Falcurr stopped the fury from spreading onto his face as he inspected the person before him. "Who—"

"I'll ask the questions here, since my time is short." The man interrupted abruptly. "Where's Svet?"

Falcurr's eyes narrowed. "How dare you speak of the commander directly by name—"

"That's not what I asked. Where is Svet? I have business with that slippery fish."

"You insolent pup—"

"Call me…" The man's eyes flickered as if deciding something. "Shrrg. Yes, this name will do."

"Your name is of no matter to us! Flee this instant, or—"

"I am getting weary of interrupting your worthless squawking." Said Shrrg in a bored voice. "The third and final time. Last chance before something excruciatingly painful. Where. Is. Svet?"

"You—!" The captain reached for his sword. "Archers! Prepare to—"

"Letta."

Like a ripple in a pool of water, the spell spread. Hands stopped. Feet halted in mid-step. The sword that had been coming out of Falcurr's sheath stayed there as if it were frozen. It was as if everyone in the tent had been suddenly struck silent.

"Finally, silence. One does not get much of that." Shrrg coughed to clear his throat, and cast his eye over all the soldiers that happened to be in the tent.

Some were here as messengers, some were here as the captain's guards. Some of them were simply _here_, and a small number of them were the ones that followed him into this very tent.

Shrrg put his finger to his lips, deep in thought. As if reaching a conclusion, he twirled the finger and uttered a word:

"Jierda."

Cracking sounds filled the entire empty space. To the experienced man, one would have recognized them as the breaking of bones. Not few, but many.

However, there were no screams, nor any cries of pain. Their sealed mouths did not let them do so. The men in the tent could only look in horror at their left arms. Left arms which had been broken beyond repair.

"Thrysta."

Again, cracking. The arms contorted, and compressed. Most men were on the brink of unconsciousness from the extreme pain. But they were not granted the luxury of falling into that soft darkness. The spell had made sure of that.

"Leynata."

The cracking sounds increased. Their arms started to twist. Blood leaked out from the ruined arms, and shards of bone could be found shoved out of their skin by an unearthly force. But still, the shrieks that should have been were muted, again, by the first spell.

"Had enough? Good. Speak now, captain."

The spell bindings on the captain's jaw were removed.

Falcurr gasped as he finally regained control of his mouth. Barely discernible whimpers escaped from between his lips, no matter how much he wanted to stop them. Breathing hard, he looked up at Shrrg.

"W… what power, Master Shrrg. To be able… to completely stop, halt… and bind all… the men in this room with… a simple spell. A thing to… be proud of, eh?" The Captain chuckled weakly.

"Answer the question, my good Captain."

"What if… I said nay?" Falcurr coughed out.

"Then I shall proceed ontoward the next limb. All of your men in this tent, mind you. Though I doubt they will be happy about that."

Pleading glances. Blurry eyes. His men were begging him to take the offer.

Falcurr sighed. "Argenon. With… the King."

"Well, well, well. If you had said so at the first try, you and your men wouldn't have gone through this little test of mine." Shrrg smiled. "Oh, but before I leave, captain, I want to make something clear."

"And… that is…?"

"If I ever find out that you had lied to me, captain…"

In a flash of crimson, the cloths on Shrrg's back were torn apart. In their place was a magnificent, wine-red sword, glistening with power not seen since the age of the riders. And it was placed on Falcurr's collarbone.

"I shall finish you myself with this sword. It thirsts of blood, something that it has not tasted for more than fifteen years."

Fear, then realization, dawned upon Falcurr's face. "You… Shrrg… you actually are—"

"Oh, not now, my good captain. Only when you clutch your mangled arm, and run home crying to your beloved Svet. Then, you can utter my name. And tell him that if he goes too far and too bloody with his tricks, I will be waiting on his doorstep with Zar'roc in hand." With a final grin, the man walked out of the tent and melded into the darkness.

In that instant, all of the soldiers sagged down onto the hard ground, holding their arms as cold drops of sweat dripped down their brow. Some of them fainted right there. Others could only scream.

As Falcurr looked on, he thought about the legend that had visited him tonight and crippled half of his men in the blink of an eye. He laughed bitterly.

Of course, though he had wanted to know where Svet was, he could have simply took the knowledge from the minds of anyone who knew. The reason that he came tonight was not because he wanted answers.

Rather, he wanted to send a message. What happened tonight would surely be known by the other camps. Fear would spread, faster than a wildfire. Words would be murmured.

That Murtagh, after fifteen years, had emerged again.

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So that's that! Hope all of you liked this chapter.

Oh, and I thank everyone that had reviewed the last chapter, and responded to my question. It helped. It really did.

For this chapter, please tell me what you guys think!


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